


There But For The Grace Of The Seven

by Dethryl



Series: One Knight Can Make A Difference [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-01 11:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 71,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11485686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dethryl/pseuds/Dethryl
Summary: Robert's Rebellion has been crushed. The war has been won. Now Rhaegar must win the peace. His father, the Mad Dragon, still occupies the Iron Throne. His wife, Elia of Dorne, still seethes at him for his infidelity. There is much to be done before the realm is secure.





	1. Rhaegar I

It was all for love.

That was what the history books would say one day. Love and a song. Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, had plucked the winter rose and spirited her away, and by doing so ignited a war that had torn the Seven Kingdoms apart.

Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell had fallen in love with him, and he with her. She had confessed to an undesired match with Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm’s End, her brother Eddard’s foster brother. Seeing in her eyes the movements of prophecy, he had claimed her for his own, marrying her in the traditions of her people. The old gods of the North cared not for ceremony, only for the calling of two hearts. The weirwood had been their witness.

Now husband and wife, they fled the North, moving south on the kingsroad. Lyanna’s eldest brother, Ser Brandon, called his noble companions to him and set out in pursuit. He rode to King’s Landing to challenge the Prince, but he was not there.

King Aerys II sent out the Kingsguard in response.

They slew Ser Brandon’s companions, but he was captured and imprisoned. His father, Lord Rickard Stark, was called to court to answer for his son’s treason, and the king had executed them both in cruel fashion. The Mad King’s bloodlust was not yet sated, and he called for more Stark heads to roll.

Winterfell now passed to the second son. Eddard called his banners and raised his own in rebellion. Lord Robert joined him, adding the might of the Stormlands. Their foster father, Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, called the Vale’s puissant knights to war. Lord Arryn had brokered a military alliance with the Riverlands, sealed with marriage, and four of the great houses were now united against the throne.

Rhaegar had no choice but to return to the capital and take command of the army. His father was no military commander, and any sycophant he appointed would be incompetent. The royal army was one of the finest in the land, but it required good leadership. Additionally there were ten thousand Dornish spears under Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard and what knights of the Reach were not with Lord Mace Tyrell besieging Storm’s End marched under Lord Leyton Hightower.

The sun warmed his black-enameled armor, with the Targaryen dragon inlaid with rubies on the breastplate dazzling anyone who looked too long. The wind stirred the pennants on the lances of the assembled knights in the courtyard of the Red Keep and Ser Jaime Lannister’s flowing golden hair. 

"My prince," Ser Jaime pleaded, "let Darry stay to guard the king this once, or Ser Barristan. Their cloaks are as white as mine."

Rhaegar shook his head. "My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour."

He had only ever seen the pained expression on Ser Jaime’s face on men impaled with lance or sword. “My prince, I beg of you. I must go with you. My loyalty is to you and to the realm. Please do not leave me here.” He crashed to his knees. “By the Seven, I implore you!”

Rhaegar was troubled. He put his hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “When this battle’s done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return.”

“Your Grace, let the changes begin now! You need every sword.”

“Ser Jaime, this is unseemly!” Ser Jonothor Darry barked. “Obey your prince!”

“No,” Jaime said, not breaking eye contact with Rhaegar. “I would obey my king.”

Rhaegar shuddered. He looked up at Maegor’s Holdfast for a long moment. _I am not a king, but Robert is the greatest threat the realm has known since the Blackfyres. If he kills me and routs this army, nothing will stand between him and King’s Landing. He will take the city, kill the rest of my family, and claim the Iron Throne for himself. If I should defeat him, would I have the same right to claim the crown?_

“Ser Jonothor,” he said at last, “you will remain with my father.”

Darry stiffened. “Yes, my prince.”

“Ser Jaime, you ride with me.”

“Thank you, my prince! Thank you!”

Outside the gates an army had assembled, whilst another descended on the Trident. So the Prince of Dragonstone mounted up and donned his tall black helm, and rode forth to his destiny.

Ser Barristan and Ser Jonothor had rallied the royal army after the defeat at the Battle of the Bells. For that failure King Aerys had exiled Jon Connington, Lord of Griffin’s Roost and Hand of the King, and one of Rhaegar’s dear companions. From all accounts, Jon’s only crime had been to not be as ruthless as Tywin Lannister. The Lord of Casterly Rock would have put the entire town of Stony Sept to the torch, killing Robert and everyone else.

_I will call him back as soon as the war is won. I need his counsel._

Thinking of Jon led him to Arthur, Ser Arthur Dayne, his oldest and dearest friend. They had met in Lannisport at the tournament to celebrate Prince Viserys’ birth. Arthur had defeated Rhaegar after an extended series of tilts. They had spent the night getting drunk together, and the next morning getting well together. Arthur had inspired Rhaegar to be a better knight, and though it required twelve lances at Storm’s End, Rhaegar bested his mentor. He had done it again at Harrenhal, and his own legendary reputation was ensured. The Sword of the Morning was currently on the most important assignment of his astounding story. He was one of three Kingsguard left to protect Rhaegar’s new wife and perhaps by now his infant son.

_More than his counsel, I need his service. Oh, Lyanna. I wish I didn’t have to leave you behind. We will be reunited, I swear it. I will make peace with Elia, and we will all enjoy our children as one family._

The march up the kingsroad was long and dusty. The men prayed often for rain, and Rhaegar was forced to take a detour to Antlers to replenish his fresh water supplies. The men simply needed to stay hydrated.

As he rode, Rhaegar pondered the nature of his foes. He knew Lord Robert largely through reputation. They had met at assorted tourneys, but Robert enjoyed carousing, while Rhaegar prefered composing. They seldom crossed paths. From all accounts, Robert was a man driven by his passions. He perceived that he had been wronged, and thus he rode to war. There would be no reasoning with him. He would not surrender. He would fight to the death. Rhaegar would be forced to kill his cousin.

Lord Jon Arryn was reputed to be an honorable man and was still a mighty knight despite advancing years. He had lost all of his front teeth over the years and had horrible breath. He had lost two wives already, produced no heirs of his body, and had lost all of his logical heirs. House Arryn was on the verge of being extinguished, and Jon might be prompted to rash action because of it.

Lord Hoster Tully was not a man prone to irrationality. Tullys were very like the rivers they ruled. When confronted with an obstacle, water flowed around it. Hoster had gotten a match with House Stark already, between the heir Brandon and his eldest child, the beauty Catelyn. He had doubled his wager by wedding his middle child Lysa to Lord Jon, and he had upped the ante by calling his banners to war.

The only unknown factor was Lord Eddard Stark. He was the second son, not expected to inherit. He might remain to serve his brother Brandon in any of several capacities, or he might go out into the world to seek his fortune. Now that he was head of the family, it was not certain how he would behave. All Starks had certain traits, but to know one was certainly not to know all. Lyanna certainly had not provided him with any insights that would let Rhaegar beat him.

There had been many engagements in the Riverlands. Now the loyalists and rebels met one final time near the juncture of the kingsroad and the river road. One way or another, it would all be decided today.

Rhaegar led charge after charge. His lances were long since broken and discarded. He wielded his sword with fierce efficiency. Ser Jaime stayed at his side, guarding him, dispatching every foe who came against him with quickness and ease.

At last Rhaegar caught sight of the stag banner. Before he could even react, there was a roar of absolute rage.

“RHAEGAR! Prince of pirates! Time to die!”

 _Robert will never be called a poet_ , Rhaegar noted absently. “I took nothing that was not offered, Robert! Are you so sure that what I took was yours?”

Robert roared incoherently again and charged forward.

The steely song of clashing blades filled the air, and around them men fell back, soldiers on opposite sides helping each other get out of the way. They watched in awe the epic combat before them, knowing they were witness to legends in the making.

The direwolf banner approached. Lord Eddard had come to the aid of his foster brother. It was fortunate that Rhaegar had granted Ser Jaime’s request to join the army, because there was no way that Ser Jonothor could have matched the cold fury in Lord Eddard’s eyes as he swung his Valyrian greatsword Ice in great reaping strokes that could cut a man in half. The young Kingsguard was one of the deadliest blades in the Seven Kingdoms, and all his skill and vigor were required against a man driven by a quest for vengeance.

Rhaegar himself was sorely pressed in his duel against Lord Robert. He wielded a spiked iron warhammer, and he was very good with it. Rhaegar had not often fought against such a weapon, especially from horseback, and he feared that it might be his undoing.

At last Ser Jaime broke through Lord Eddard’s defences and sank his sword into the northman’s chest. Ice slipped from his hands, and he dropped without a sound.

“NED!” screamed Robert, his voice curdling with agony. His warhammer dipped.

With that moment of distraction, Rhaegar pressed forward and smashed Robert in the face with the pommel of his sword. Robert staggered back, and Rhaegar pierced him in the side. With a roar, he swung his warhammer, but Rhaegar dodged out of the way. Blood poured from the wound, and Robert clasped a mailed hand to his side. Rhaegar stabbed at him again, and the warhammer fell to the ground. Robert reached up with both hands and pulled his helmet off. He stared at Rhaegar, his eyes full of towering fury, for several long moments before falling face first into the Trident without a sound.

With a moan, the rebel army began to collapse. Weapons were thrown down, quarter was given, and Prince Rhaegar’s forces had won the day. With a sigh, Rhaegar cleaned his blade and slid it home.

_I have won, but I have won nothing. All I have done is kill good men. How many died, that I might have her? How many more will die if the Long Night comes again?_

With their commanders dead, the rebel armies eventually surrendered. Robert Baratheon was slain by Rhaegar’s own hand. Ned Stark was slain by Ser Jaime. Another powerful northern lord, Roose Bolton, was also dead. Jon Arryn and many of his Vale knights would ride no more, including Bronze Yohn Royce. The Tully brothers, Lord Hoster and Ser Brynden lay side by side.

Though the royalist forces had won, the cost was high. Prince Lewyn Martell had been slain by Ser Lyn Corbray. Relations with Dorne were already tense due to Rhaegar’s marriage to Lyanna, conducted without consulting his first wife, Elia Martell. Another Kingsguard, Ser Barristan the Bold, had fallen, cut a dozen times and still fighting. He had singlehandedly turned the tide on the left flank, preventing it from collapsing, and killing Jon Arryn in the process.

Lord Dundar Darry of the Riverlands and two of his brothers had perished. Darry was an old and powerful house, and Rhaegar had been counting on their support when he moved against his father. The youngest brother, Ser Raymun, now inherited. Lord Dundar had been a friend, but Raymun was a stranger to Rhaegar.

Rhaegar wanted to mourn, but he had too many duties. He had to accept the rebel surrender, disperse their soldiers, see to his dead, and disposition his own forces.

“Ser Raymun,” he said hoarsely, wishing for a drink of water. He glanced at the Trident, but it was red with blood. His stomach churned at the thought.

The knight was at his side in a moment. “Yes, my prince?”

"My condolences on the losses of your brothers," Rhaegar told him. "They all fought valiantly."

"Thank you, my prince," Raymun said. "I never thought this duty would be mine, but I will do all I can to help you." 

“Lord Darry, you will take your forces west to Riverrun. There you will return the bodies of Lord Hoster and Ser Brynden. Once they understand that they have lost this war, they will open the gates. You will take custody of the Tully children. Allow them a suitable period to mourn, but then send them to me in King’s Landing. They must kneel before the Iron Throne and repent their family’s treason.”

“Yes, my prince.”

Lord Walter Whent said, “What of the North? Do we go to Winterfell and seize that castle as well?”

 _Yes, what_ of _the North?_ “Where is Stark’s ancestral weapon? Make sure it does not disappear from the battlefield. I want all the dead treated honorably. I want archers deployed. Looters are to be shot on sight. Use the rebel bowmen as well. They’ll enjoy that.”

“Very wise, my prince,” Lord Whent said effusively. “Winterfell now passes to Benjen Stark. Will he answer a summons? If not, would any northern lord bring him to the capital?”

_They all rose in rebellion. There are none I would insult by asking to escort their new liege lord to bend the knee. None stayed loyal._

“Perhaps we shall ask the Night’s Watch for a favor.” Though he made the comment in jest, the more he thought about it, the more appeal it had. “Yes, I will write to Lord Commander Qorgyle at once. After all, unless I am mistaken, we are about to send them a great many new recruits. 

Lord Whent chuckled. “My lady wife is a friend to the Watch. If they will not do a favor, perhaps they will return one.”

“Thank you, my lord. I am in your debt.”


	2. Lyanna I

It had been weeks since Rhaegar had stood in the morning sunlight, a slight breeze lifting his platinum hair, gazing deep into her eyes and swearing upon his life and his soul that he loved her and would return for her. He had kissed her, and she tasted on his tongue the words he could not speak: _if I yet live._ Then he rode off to lead his father’s armies against lords risen in rebellion, lords that included Lyanna’s brother and her betrothed.

It had been some weeks, and Lyanna was feeling restless. She cursed again and again the woman’s burden of birthing the young. She truthfully hadn’t had a hard pregnancy, but the restrictions on her movements were frustrating to a woman long accustomed to riding all day. She didn't enjoy being cooped up here, with nothing but her thoughts. When she had been with Rhaegar, the isolation had mattered less, but now that he was gone, she felt it keenly. 

_I should have gone with him_ , she thought for the hundredth time, but of course, she knew that could not have been. 

She rested her hand on her belly absently as she looked out the window. Rhaegar had left his three loyal Kingsguard with her, insisting that she and the baby were in more dire need of protection.

_I don’t need three knights to mind me. In this remote and private place, I barely even need one. One of them should have gone. One man might make a difference, especially these men._

As she so often did lately, Lyanna stood slowly, stretched the ache in her back, and began to pace. The others were no comfort to her. Trustworthy men and great knights, yes, but none of them were in a position to help relieve Lyanna of her burdens. They were Rhaegar's men, and she did not feel comfortable confiding in them.

 _Where is Ned now?_ she wondered. _Fighting for me when I don't need to be fought for?_

It wasn't just her, she knew. It was about Father and Brandon, murdered by Rhaegar's father. But, they, too, were dead because they had believed Lyanna had gone unwillingly. All anyone knew was that Rhaegar and Lyanna had disappeared at the same time.

_If only I could have told them. But no, I couldn't have. Too much was at stake. If Rhaegar had claimed me publicly, it would have been Dorne rising with the Riverlands and Robert, who would have been enraged either way. Oh, Ned, what do you see in him? The stories I have heard, surely you know of them. He drinks to excess. He brawls, he whores, and then he drinks some more. How could I marry a such a man? Rhaegar rescued me, can’t you see?_

There was no use dwelling on what could have been. If she had managed to tell Ned, if Rhaegar had not crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty instead of his own wife, if she hadn't decided to avenge Howland Reed in that damned armor… 

_No, if that had not happened, I never would have met Rhaegar, sent to hunt me down. Oh, I was so foolish. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I only wanted to see justice done. If I’d given it a moment’s thought, or even talked to someone about it, I might have realized that paranoid, mad Aerys would not take the appearance of a mystery knight well. So much trouble could have been avoided, but at least there is one positive thing in all of this, coming soon._

And it would be soon, she knew. She was feeling his movements stronger every day, and she felt the twinges now and again. He kicked at all of her internal organs and her ribs. He was always so active. She was nervous of him coming early, here, without maester or septa, but she prayed that it would not be so. _Not that I know where the nearest godswood is, here in this red place._

Him. Rhaegar had always thought of the child as _her_. Lyanna had found herself half hoping for a boy, whether to prove him wrong or for her own sake, she wasn't sure. _A girl could stay out of this game of thrones… although I have certainly become enough of a pawn in it._

Rhaegar had ideas--vague, wild ideas, that he had only given her the smallest taste of. She didn't know how he could be so certain, but he had spent the time poring over the books and scrolls, as well as communicating with the Targaryen at the Wall, the prince who had long ago given up his title for a maester's chain. 

From her window, Lyanna could see for miles around. She had disliked it as soon as she'd seen it, though there were enough happy memories here. _Though too far south for a Stark. I am not meant to be here._

Now her attention was drawn to an approaching party, kicking up dust. _From the south._ She did not know who to expect approaching from the south. 

It was a small party, only three riders. They carried no banners, and Lyanna hoped they might simply pass by until they slowed and turned down the path toward this place that Rhaegar had named the Tower of Joy.

She watched from the window as they stopped. Ser Oswell drew his sword in challenge, but Ser Arthur Dayne ran forward and embraced one of the hooded figures. It fell back, revealing the face of his sister, Ashara.

_Friends, if we can be said to have any._

Lyanna went down to meet them, sick anyway of staying in her chamber. Ashara Dayne was at the table in the small hall where they took their meals. A servant was bringing refreshments for her and her two companions, guards of House Dayne.

"Ashara!" Lyanna sat beside her. "Why have you come all this way? Is there news?"

Ashara's face told her the answer. There was a deep sadness in the violet eyes, and Lyanna knew it would be bad. 

"Tell me," she said firmly. 

Ashara closed her eyes for a moment. "There was a great battle on the Trident. Prince Rhaegar's forces prevailed, but… the rebels. I am so sorry, Lyanna. Ned, Robert, and Jon Arryn have all perished."

 _No. It cannot be. I had hoped he would rout them, but not like that._ "Who?" she asked. "Ashara, do you know who killed my brother?" _Rhaegar promised me it would not be him._

Ashara took her hand. "It was Ser Jaime Lannister. Rhaegar himself slew Robert in single combat."

There was no time to feel relief that Rhaegar lived. "I must go home," she said dazedly. "I must go to Winterfell and Benjen." _He is lord now, the third-born son. How much more must we lose, all for the sake of what Rhaegar thinks is to be?_

"Absolutely not, my lady," Ser Gerold said. "Our instructions were to keep you here."

"Am I a prisoner, then?" she demanded. "If I am not, then I should be free to go." 

"Not in your condition, my lady! I have promised the prince--"

In her grief, she summoned all the ice of the North and frosted her words. "So you may have, but I promised nothing. You promised to protect me. I am leaving. If you wish to protect me, you will have to go with me. Surely, Lord Commander, you will not be so rude as to lay hands upon my person to stop me."

Ser Gerold's face clouded. "No, my lady."

"Well, we are not staying here," Ashara went on, taking a letter from her pack. "This is why I came. Prince Rhaegar has summoned you to King's Landing." 

It was a shock too great and too sudden. Lyanna's mouth dropped open. "King's Landing? Surely, he cannot mean to take me to court."

"I know not what he means, only what he says. The war is over. Rhaegar is on his way back to his father and he would have you with him when the babe comes."

"Then it is safe to go to King's Landing?" Lyanna didn't know if she really believed it. "Does Robert's brother still live?"

"He is trapped in Storm's End, which is sure to fall soon," Ashara said. "They have been under siege for nearly a year now. The garrison cannot have much strength left. We will accompany you to the capital."

 _Rhaegar must have something in mind… more plans that I am not privy to._ Ashara distributed letters. Ser Gerold and the other knights of the Kingsguard had personal orders that firmly answered the question of their going or staying.

She unfolded the piece of parchment Ashara had given her. It was from Rhaegar, of a certainty. She would recognize his neat, flowing script anywhere. He had the soul of an artist, making his poetry beautiful to the eye as well as the ear.

_My dearest Lyanna,_

_It is done. I have become a kinslayer, but the matter is finished. I will not dwell on it. I fear our struggles are just beginning. In time, we may wish to be back in those easy days when Robert was our only concern._

_I am so sorry about your brother. It had been my hope to somehow spare his life, but he meant to slay me and Ser Jaime did his duty. I mean to do what I can to make it up to your family, and you have my word that his bones will lie in Winterfell, where they belong._

_The only thing that has gotten me through the past few days have been the thought of seeing you and our daughter to come. I know you cannot understand how I can be so sure, but I am, Lyanna. Your place and hers are in the capital. I will meet you there. May the gods be on our side._

_Yours always,_

_Rhaegar_

She sighed. It was hard for her to trust sight unseen, but she also knew there was much he couldn't put in a letter.

 _When I see him, I'll make him tell me everything_ , she vowed. 

As they prepared for their journey, Lyanna reflected that, as much as she had wanted to leave this place, she now felt reluctant to go. She had hated the oppressive feeling of staying inside, of having no freedom, but it had been safe, their Tower of Joy. The world outside was uncertain.

 _I do not fear the king_ , she decided. _Rhaegar will not let him hurt me or the babe. He is just a mad old man obsessed with fire._

She felt useless in the carriage, as they rode to King's Landing. She wished she could be riding, feeling the wind in her hair. In the carriage with Ashara, there was nothing to do but think about Ned.

 _If only I could have told at least him_ , she wished for the hundredth time. _Would he have opposed Robert? But no one could know because of that damned prophecy and the so-called Prince That Was Promised._

That was when the tears came, and the two women cried together. Ned had had designs on marrying Ashara in a time before Brandon’s death.

 _And what of Catelyn?_ she wondered. _She is a widow so soon. Her sister, too. So many have all been touched by this by this, and it is all because of me._

The only thing that kept her from despair was the thought of seeing Rhaegar again. He would know what to do. He seemed so sure about everything; even when she was frustrated by his refusal to explain, she could at least trust that he knew what he was doing. Or thought he did. 


	3. Viserys I

Prince Viserys Targaryen idolized his older brother Rhaegar. Though only seven years of age, he imagined himself a great warrior, riding a dragon into battle, slaying any and all who stood before him. Rhaegar had promised that Viserys would begin his instruction at arms once the war was over. He’d already had a few lessons with Ser Willem Darry, the Red Keep’s master at arms. Viserys was determined to become his brother’s squire. Together he knew they would be invincible.

Rhaegar had led Father’s army into battle. Word came at last of his brother’s great victory against the traitorous lords. When Grand Maester Pycelle made the announcement in the small council, Viserys’ father, King Aerys, laughed long and loud. 

“Behold the might of the dragon, Viserys,” he cackled. “Thus the gods demonstrate who is fit to rule! All failed me except mine own blood. Only once a Targaryen took command did our army prove its worth.”

The old maester cleared his throat. “There is more, Your Grace. Casualty figures, losses of note.”

“Yes, yes,” Father said absently, waving his hand. “I’m sure there are some sad letters to write. It is of no matter. They did their sworn duty. How many rebel lords has he captured or killed?”

The maester peered at the parchment. “Prince Rhaegar reports that Lord Eddard Stark, Lord Robert Baratheon, Lord Jon Arryn, and Lord Hoster Tully were all killed in battle, Your Grace.”

“Four Lords Paramount,” the bald Lord Varys said. “All the chief rebels have been slain.”

Father rubbed his hands together. “Have the rest of their families seized at once. We will stamp out the root of rebellion.”

“At once, Your Grace.”

Father began to tap his fingers on the table. “We will need new lords to replace these traitors.”

“I am sure that many men distinguished themselves in the war, Your Grace,” Varys said. “You will have no shortage of men to whom you may award lands and castles.”

“I want a castle,” Viserys said brightly. “I want to have my very own castle with a huge dragon painted on the side in blood red paint.”

Father chuckled indulgently. “Then you shall have a castle, my boy. Varys, has Lord Tyrell managed to breach Storm’s End?”

The eunuch shook his head. “Not yet, Your Grace.”

“Fool,” Father huffed. “Stannis will surrender once he realizes the war is lost. He’s stubborn, but he’s not an idiot. I want him to never see the light of day again.”

Viserys shivered as the Master of Whisperers smiled. “I’m certain I can find a cosy place for him in the black cells.”

Father did not like that suggestion. Lesser men had cowered at the bleak look on his face. “No, I don’t want that traitor near me. I want him locked up in his own castle. I want him to live every day knowing he should never have challenged the dragon.”

The bald man bowed. “Very good, Your Grace. There are certain storm cells in utter darkness. I will send word to Lord Tyrell.”

“If he ever gets off his arse and gets the job done,” Father muttered. “Viserys! How would you like to have Storm’s End? Our family gave it to the Baratheons, you know. They repaid our generosity with rebellion. I’m taking it back, but I want to make sure I give it to someone worthy.”

_Would I?_ “I’m worthy, Father! Can I have Storm’s End? Can I? Can I? Oh please!”

Father chuckled indulgently. “Yes, I think that would be suitable. You can start a new branch of our house.”

Viserys yelped with elation and ran around the council table excitedly.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Father said. “Carry on. Viserys, walk with me.”

Viserys liked it when he got to walk with Father. He always talked about the duties of a king, how difficult it was to hold the ultimate power and always make the right decision. He talked about the need to rule with strength, so that the lords would know their place.

“Have you learned about House Baratheon in your lessons?”

“Yes, Father. Orys Baratheon was the bastard son of Aerion Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone,” Viserys recited faithfully. “He was one of the fiercest warriors when Aegon launched his invasion. He was loyal to his half-brother, and when he married the last Durrandon woman, he took over their house and seat.”

“No,” Father said harshly. “He was loyal to Aegon, and he did marry the Durrandon woman, but the reason it became his seat is because Aegon willed it. It was a reward for his leal service. He might have been granted the castle even without marriage, or he might have married her only to find he wasn’t receiving the castle.”

Viserys frowned. “But Orys and Aegon were friends?”

“Yes,” Father said, more calmly. “For many years. He served his king long and well. There was even a marriage in recent history to strengthen the ties between our houses. But Robert rose in rebellion and is now dead. If you want the castle-”

“I do! I do!”

“-then you’ll be the Prince of Storm’s End. You’ll rule the Stormlands in my name.”

“I like that! Prince Viserys of Storm’s End. Do I get to make my own coat of arms?” Heraldry was one of his favorite subjects.

Father cackled. “Yes! What would you like to have?”

“Can I keep the red dragon?”

“You could. You could reverse it. You could have two dragons facing each other.”

“I know Prince Maekar had four dragons, but he was a fourth son. I’m starting a new branch of the house, so it should be one dragon.”

“Red and black is the banner for the main house. Do you want a different color?”

Viserys considered the question. “Maybe. I like red because it’s fire and blood, like our words. Maybe orange or yellow. Those are still fire colors.”

Father nodded. “That would look quite grand. How about a gold dragon on a black field?”

“Ooh,” Viserys exclaimed. “That would be great. I like that. Yes, I want to do that.”

“I will give the orders. When you claim your new seat, you will raise your new banner.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“You are welcome, Viserys. Take my arm. Help an old man find his way.”

Viserys liked to help his father. It made him feel important. He knew that Rhaegar would be king when Father died, and baby Aegon would be king after that. Unless he was given responsibilities, he would be idle, and he hated idleness. He was smart and clever and he knew he could handle important things if only given the chance.

He had pestered Father for a month to be able to go to the meetings of the small council. He hoped that someday he might be appointed to a seat. He had no interest in money or ships, for numbers made his head ache and he invariably became seasick. The craft of ruling seemed interesting from what he had learned so far with Grand Maester Pycelle. Perhaps he might serve some years as Master of Laws.

_I wonder if Rhaegar would ever make me his Hand. I’d sit on the Iron Throne and dispense justice in his name. I’d head the council and give him advice. I would be second only to Rhaegar himself. Targaryens often appoint their relatives. Poor Father needed a family member, not that Tywin Lannister. Those stupid lions! If Rhaegar had been Father’s Hand, none of this would have happened._

Father’s breath was short as they walked, but he didn’t slow his pace. One never knew if he would be quick or languid, but he maintained his chosen speed.

“Rhaegar was victorious. Of course he was. He is my son! How could he not? He succeeded where so many failed. My Hands,” Father sneered. “Useless, all of them! Owen Merryweather. I stripped him of lands and title and sent him into exile. I should have had his head. He was conspiring with Stark and Baratheon. We’ll probably find his body at the Trident, fighting with stags.

“Never trust stags or those loyal to stags. Jon Connington,” Father said contemptuously. “He couldn’t even capture an injured man hiding in a sept. He deliberately took as long as he could to search that town, in order to give the rebels time to relieve Robert. It all could have been over a month ago. All those people who died at the Trident are dead because Connington didn’t have a dragon’s heart. If he had fired the town while Robert was hiding, the war could have been won.”

“Overwhelming force!”

“Qarlton Chelsted. He lacked vision. I honored him beyond his dreams, and he dared to disagree with me. How is that gratitude?”

“It’s not right!”

“Traitors! Everywhere traitors, Viserys. Never forget that. Wolves, fish, falcons, they’re all traitors. What do we do to traitors?”

“Kill them!”

“That’s right,” Father said proudly. “We kill them. We do not suffer a traitor to live. Your brother took the royal army and killed all the rebel lords. Any who yet live will kneel again, and kneel in chains. Our kin! Our own kin! Your great-aunt, Princess Rhaelle was wife to Ormund Baratheon. Do you know why that marriage happened?”

Viserys scrunched up his face with concentration. “Lord Lyonel Baratheon rebelled and declared himself Storm King.”

“But why?”

“Umm.” Viserys thought hard. “He was insulted.”

Father snorted derisively. “He _felt_ insulted, but dragons care not for the feelings of lesser creatures. Prince Duncan was betrothed to Lyonel’s daughter, but he wanted another and so he took her, just as your brother Rhaegar took the woman he wanted.”

Viserys nodded slowly, digesting that new information. “Lyonel lost to Ser Duncan the Tall of the Kingsguard in a trial by combat but refused to strike his banners. The rebellion ended when Prince Duncan renounced his claim to the throne and King Aegon married his daughter Rhaelle to Lyonel’s heir Ormund. They begat Steffon.”

Father snarled angrily. “Steffon!” he practically spat. “It was Steffon's failings that led to all of this! If he’d fulfilled his mission to bring back a Valyrian bride for your brother, none of this would have happened. He was my cousin, and I thought he was my friend. He was half-Targaryen, half of our blood, but the foul bastard stag blood inside him poisoned the dragonseed. That is why we marry within our own blood. We keep it pure. We can only trust our family, Viserys. There can never be another Dance. We must stand united against the lesser creatures who would see us slain. That bastard stag rutted with a turtle and begat Robert, Stannis, and Renly. They are your second cousins, Viserys. Your cousins rebelled against us.”

Viserys grew hot with anger, the fire of the dragon waking inside him. “That’s twice now the Baratheons have rebelled. Will they do it again?”

“They should not. Last time we made peace through marriage. This time we make peace through war. We will cast them down. Many houses will kneel, whether it be surviving lords or their heirs. They will kneel and they will beg forgiveness for their treason. A wise king accepts it, but a prudent king never forgets. The Baratheons are not forgiven. They are removed from their seat and position and all titles.”

Viserys was happy that the chief rebels would be punished. “What of the other great houses, Father? The Starks, the Tullys, the Arryns?”

Father frowned. “There is another Stark boy. If he grows to be a man, he will seek vengeance for his executed kin. Better to kill him now and save the effort later. Same with the Tully boy. The Arryns are now extinguished in the male line, and not many left in the female. If they do fealty, I may let them live. I will install new lords in each place. This is my kingdom, taken and defended by right of conquest.”

“And I get Storm’s End?”

“You get Storm’s End.”

“Will Rhaenys get a seat? I think she’d like Riverrun. Then she’d be Princess Rhaenys of Riverrun. I know Aegon will be Prince of Dragonstone. We’ll need more Targaryens if we’re going to replace all those houses.”

Father laughed gently. “Patience, Viserys, patience. All things happen in the fullness of time. Even dragon eggs take time to hatch.”

Viserys was not a patient boy. He tried, but he was just so _eager_ for things to happen quickly. He liked action. It was why he wanted to be a knight. Tourneys and combat just sounded so exciting!

“Soon the blood of the dragon will rule over all of Westeros,” Father said. “That will be my legacy: a Targaryen kingdom.”


	4. Rhaegar II

As they rode into the village of Brindlewood, Rhaegar looked forward to staying at the inn, scant as its comforts may have been.

_Thank the Seven that today’s march is behind us. I grow weary of sleeping on the ground. My bedroll is cold and lonely. I miss Lyanna. I miss a proper bed. I may be a great knight, but I fear I am a poor soldier. I enjoy my comforts too much._

Leading the army was exhausting. His truest friends were scattered far and wide, and he felt isolated and alone. Part of it, he knew, was the burden of command. He had his councils and advisers, but the decisions were his alone. Each choice he made weighed on him.

_Was this the trigger for Father’s madness? Was the pressure simply too much? It is difficult to know what to do. The way is not always clear. It requires wisdom and compassion. Of the latter he has none, and the former, I have yet to see demonstrated._

He was almost back to King’s Landing, and he had run out of time to make his decisions. The changes he had promised Ser Jaime so glibly now needed to be implemented. 

_Father cannot remain on the throne. The rebels had the right of it. If they would have deposed Father and given the crown to me, I suppose I would not have objected, but I would not rule at their sufferance. The dragon does not ask permission of the lions and stags and wolves if he may rule them. It simply is. Now they have been crushed. The dragon survives. Now the Mad Dragon must be dealt with._

There was much work yet to be done. He had sent for Lyanna to join him in King’s Landing, but he still had no place for her to stay. He was not about to install her in the Red Keep without neutralizing his father and making peace with his first family.

_Oh, Lyanna. I miss you. Has our daughter yet been born? Does she look like you? I wish I could be with you. Forgive me for leaving you. I had no choice. I had to secure the realm for the safety of our family, our daughter._

Once the army had been settled in to make camp, Rhaegar called two lords to his room. It was time to make his conspiracy.

Lord Walter Whent was in his mid-40s, with thinning brown hair, and a slight limp from his injuries. The Lord of Harrenhal was not long in his seat. Indeed his was the seventh house to hold the great castle since the Conquest. Nevertheless, it was a powerful and prestigious seat.

Lord Aerryk Dayne was newly risen to his lordship, for his father Aerryn Dayne had died at the Battle of the Bells. He was brother to Rhaegar’s oldest and dearest friend, Ser Arthur Dayne. Aerryk and Rhaegar had met several times before but had grown closer during this campaign.

“Thank you for coming, my lords. There is much yet undone. The realm bleeds still.”

“The fighting is coming to a close, my prince,” Lord Aerryk said with more than a trace of relief. “Your army is the only one remaining in the field. Any lingering rebel forces are hiding in their castles. They will bend the knee.”

Rhaegar nodded. “Lord Raymun will secure Riverrun, and Lord Mace Storm’s End. What of Winterfell?”

Lord Whent cleared his throat. “My lady wife received a reply from Lord Commander Qorgyle. The Night’s Watch congratulates you on your victory, my prince, and looks forward to receiving many rebel prisoners. Given that Yoren may have trouble with such a large number, he is sending several additional men. The Lord Commander is happy to provide Lord Benjen with an honor guard as he journeys to King’s Landing to make his fealty to the Iron Throne.”

“Good. He is Lyanna’s blood, and I will retain him as my Lord Paramount. Now I must decide what to do about the Riverlands.”

Whent and Dayne looked at each other.

Lord Whent spoke. “Begging your pardon, my prince, but won’t your father disposition the Riverlands? And the North?”

_Now I embark on the path of treason. Seven save me. Seven save us all._

“My father has slipped into madness,” he said quietly. “Others have seen it, and now the scales have fallen from my eyes as well. I denied it at first, thinking that his fears had their justifications, especially after Duskendale, but the depth of his madness surprised me. I see the truth resplendent. I returned to take command of this army for the sake of the realm, and now I find that I too must become a rebel, also for the sake of the realm. I must keep fighting.”

There was a knocking at the door.

“I said we were not to be disturbed!” Rhaegar roared, his frayed nerves failing at last. _They will wake the dragon._

“Royal messenger, my prince!” came a voice through the door.

Rhaegar opened the door and saw a man who had ridden hard for hours. “Get him some food and a place to rest,” he ordered. He took the offered message and closed the door.

“The royal seal,” he observed to his guests. He broke it and examined the contents. “Pycelle’s writing. Storm’s End has fallen.”

Lord Whent let out a cheer and reached for the pitcher of ale. “This calls for a celebration. The Baratheons are undone.”

_The castle has never been taken before now. Mace Tyrell sat on his fat arse and starved Stannis out. Another cousin slain. How many more of my family must I kill before this madness ends?_

He did not dwell on the answer.

_There was a third brother. He would be of an age with Viserys. Reginald? No. Reptar? No. Ronald? Maybe. Ronly? Yes, that sounds right. I wonder if he survived the siege._

He did not dwell on that either.

Lord Whent continued, “Now that Storm’s End is fallen, there is no more organized resistance. All of the rebel lords were here with their troops. Those not slain will bend the knee. It is the way of things.”

“Was it all worth it?” the prince asked, unable to prevent the melancholy thought.

The man was silent for a moment. “I hope so, my prince. I truly hope so. We have all lost many. What have we gained? Only you can say for certain.”

“Peace, I pray, and hope for the future. Security against a night that is dark.”

“Are not all nights dark?”

“This night may be the final night.”

Lord Aerryk shivered. “You say such disturbing things, my prince. Your words fill the mind with evil images.”

“I do not mean to frighten you, my friend. Yet frightened you may well be before the song is finished.”

“Do you mean to say that the war is not over?”

“ _This_ war is over, Aerryk. I worry about the war yet to come, against the enemy we cannot withstand.”

Aerryk sobered. “My prince, I have a thousand soldiers under my command. Well, less now, I’m afraid, but we stand ready. Point us at your enemy. We will die to the man defending you.”

The rush of warmth Rhaegar felt had nothing to do with the ale he had drunk.

“My friend, your devotion to our cause is humbling, and we will strive to be worthy of it. Know that I have a different task for you, one which may test your pledge to me. You would serve the realm?”

“Yes, my prince.”

“Then come with me on these things that I must do. If the war is truly ended, then we must act without delay,” Rhaegar said, looking at each in turn. These were the ones who had been with him all this way, his most loyal supporters. If they were actually going to do this, he would need them. “My friends, we embark on the path of treason. Justified, I believe, but treason, nonetheless. If we fail, we will all burn. I give you a chance to back out. Fear no repercussion if you have any second thoughts." 

Neither turned away.

"We cannot do it alone," Lord Aerryk said. "We must know who is with us and who is against us."

"The Freys are numerous and too wily by half, aye,” Lord Walter mused, “but they are my kin by marriage. Ser Danwell is my goodbrother. He married my sister, Wynafrei. We would certainly have men aplenty if we allied with them."

Aerryk scratched his head. “If we would enlist the Freys, perhaps we _should_ recruit Lord Raymun. His sister Mariya married Merrett Frey. They have a daughter, Amirei.”

Rhaegar frowned in thought. Lord Walder Frey had been slow to declare himself a loyalist, though he had not answered when Hoster Tully called his banners, a point in his favor. "We may not need men aplenty. I mean to confine my father and remove the pyromancer from influence, but we have no need of armies. Hopefully no blood will be shed."

"Yes," Lord Aerryk said. "And who would oppose you? Some lords of the Narrow Sea? Rosby? Stokeworth?"

Lord Walter asked, "Do we have Dorne?"

"The lords of the Red Mountains are ours," Lord Aerryk said. "The question is what Prince Doran will do."

Rhaegar had heard the rumors that his father would pass him over for Aegon; the Martells would probably agree to that after what he had done to Elia. "I have no friends in Sunspear."

"I wonder if you might have some in the west," Lord Aerryk said. "Lord Tywin is surely not pleased with the king."

"You are right. I did fear he might rise with Robert." Rhaegar paused. _Time is of the essence. Do I have time to court Lord Tywin? Do I need to? Surely he would want something, but what could I offer?_ "Has anyone a sense of his feelings?"

No one did. 

"He is a closed man," Lord Walter said. "Few can know his mind."

"I have no time for riddles," Rhaegar said. "I must act if we are to save the realm from my father."

"And without more allies, we will fail," Lord Aerryk said. "Believe me, my prince, I would follow you to the seventh hell and back, but I'm not keen to lose my head right after we won the war."

"What more in the Riverlands?" Rhaegar posed this to Lord Whent. "Would the Blackwoods follow you? The Brackens? The Smallwoods?" 

"They may," Lord Whent allowed. Then he laughed without much real humor. "If you court the Blackwoods, you will not have the Brackens. Best choose, my prince."

Lord Aerryk chuckled wryly. "I do not know how many of the riverlords will be willing to rise in rebellion again. They will not wish to meet the stormlords' fates."

Rhaegar's thoughts swirled. _Aerryk is right. Who will join me after seeing the fate of those who rose with Robert? I must do this without armies. At least I have allies. Soon I will see my friends again. Soon I will see Lyanna again, and all will be well._

“Then what must we do, my lords?”

“Let us be bold,” Lord Aerryk suggested.

“Trust a Dornishman to suggest rash action,” Lord Whent replied with a grin.

“The beauty of the unexpected, my lord, is that the enemy cannot plan a defense against it.”

“Pray peace, my lords. Lord Aerryk, say on.”

“Yes, my lord prince. We agree that armies will not avail us? Then we must remove the king by stealth. You must take those of the Kingsguard who are loyal to you, go to him in private, and take him into custody.”

“Will not his loyal Kingsguard fight back?”

“Can it not be arranged for when white knights loyal to you are on duty to him?”

“Perhaps. At present, they guard Lady Lyanna.”

“A drawback,” Lord Aerryk admitted. “But the idea is sound. Surprise will win the day, my prince.”


	5. Lyanna II

The trek took far longer than it would have if Lyanna could have ridden astride. For her comfort, the carriage did not travel anywhere close to as fast as it could. Some days it seemed the horses were walking. It seemed to take forever and that there had never been a time when she was not riding in this awful carriage. At one point, she was convinced that they had made some vast detour or wrong turn. Only Ashara’s soothing voice and gentle words had returned her calm. Only her urging had helped Lyanna overcome her impulse to flee this place as rapidly as she could achieve it.

_Brandon and Father died there._

Her nerves returned as they moved through the city. There were gold cloaks everywhere and she was afraid they would be stopped. The rebellion had set off the king's madness, and it would not surprise her if he had the city scrutinized.

The house Rhaegar had set up for them was on Rhaenys' Hill. It was a large manse, surrounded by high walls, but from the roof, she could see the Red Keep and the sea beyond. When the wind blew in such a way that she could forget Flea Bottom was there, it was actually quite pleasant. But it was nothing compared to Winterfell.

She knew Rhaegar was in the city; she'd seen his procession of triumphant heroes ride into the Red Keep earlier that afternoon. Now, as night was falling, she saw a black horse approaching, ridden by a hooded figure. It stopped at the gates and Lyanna left the roof. It would take her long enough to get down to the hall. 

He met her on the stairs, still dressed in his riding cloak. Before she could say anything, she was in his arms. She fought back tears of relief and joy. She squeezed him tightly, as if she would merge their bodies and become of one flesh as they were of one spirit.

 _I was going to demand an explanation_ , she remembered, _but now that he's here, I'm just glad he is alive._

"It could have been you," she murmured into his chest. "I see it in my mind, you lying in the waters of the Trident, with your chest bashed in and _him_ standing over you."

"And it didn't happen that way." He kissed her hair. "I am here and whole, and we are together again."

"I know." She looked up at him, still clutching the front of his cloak. "And when were you planning to tell me all you have thought up?"

Something passed over his face. "Now, Lyanna? You have trusted me this far."

"And my trust is at an end." There was a sudden edge of steel in her voice; she would not back down this time. "My brother is dead, Rhaegar, because I could not tell him what I wanted to. All I have left is Benjen. I do not want to be kept in the dark any longer."

He nodded, looking pained. "You are right, of course. I can't tell you how sorry I am about Eddard. I only saw him when I was fully engaged with Robert. He came up fast, and Ser Jaime did his sworn duty. He died well, if any death can be said to be well. It was clean and quick. I’m sorry. I wish I could have taken him prisoner."

"I know," she said sadly, blinking back tears. The pain was refreshed every time she thought about him and it led to thoughts of Father and Brandon. "I want to go home. I know it can't be for some time, but I would see Benjen."

"You will see him," Rhaegar said. His eyes were full of purpose now; she could see still more plans forming in his head. _They will get away from you_ , she thought. _You cannot keep hold of all your ideas. They will all slip through your fingers and fly away._ "I won't have your family treated as will be done to the other rebels. He will be Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North. The others, my father had ideas for, but I saved your family Winterfell."

The thought had not occurred to her that they might lose Winterfell and her eyes filled again. "What of the others?"

"Later." He kissed her. "You should sit down. You have been standing too long."

She sighed. "Sitting is just as uncomfortable as standing."

"I know." He smiled. "Suppose I would like to sit down. I rode almost all day."

They went to her chamber and sat on the bed. 

"Now, tell me," she said. "This child is important. You have convinced me of that. Why? How did you come to hear of this prophecy?"

Rhaegar closed his eyes. He suddenly looked sad. "You know I wasn't always a warrior. When I was a boy, they said I might as well become a maester, if I were not my father's only son. But I read of it in an old scroll. It was said the prince would be born amidst salt and smoke, and I thought of Summerhall and thought of myself. For a time, I thought it might be me. But as I learned more I knew it could not be me."

"Why? How could you know it wasn't you?" 

"Because of the bleeding star. But there was one when Aegon was conceived. A comet in the sky. So I thought it must be him." He leaned forward, rubbing his brow. "But now I think I have got it all wrong again. It is more than just that." 

"How can you know?" Lyanna asked. "Aegon is but a babe. How do you know what he will or won't do as a man grown?"

"Because…" He shook his head. "I had overlooked much. The more I read, the more I found to show me that I was on the wrong path. After Aegon was born, I found another source. _The dragon has three heads_ , it said. So I thought I must have three children. But I could not do that to Elia again. The gods would not have it."

"So then you set her aside and turned to me?" Lyanna did not mean to snap, but she also didn't like being the extra wife, hidden away in a tower. Elia was a lovely woman, and Lyanna did not like displacing her, either. Every time she thought about the princess, she was filled with shame and guilt. 

"It had to be you," Rhaegar said. "We have been through this. Don't think I pursue you because of the prophecy. It was after I found you that day at Harrenhal, after that time we spent together, that I realized what the words meant. The prince has a song. It is a song of ice and fire."

"Ice and fire," she murmured. "So you would elevate our child over your first-born son because of something you read in a scroll?" 

"Lyanna, please! I said nothing of passing over Aegon. Why do you invent words where I have spoken nothing?" He took her hands. "I am meant to have two wives. I know it. I know not why. I cannot pretend to know what our daughter will accomplish… both of my daughters… and my son… but I know ours must exist. Aegon is meant to be king. The gods have something else in mind for our child." He brushed her hair back. "There is more, but it will take time. Our child will be born, and then we can move. I have been gathering loyal men. I think I have enough."

Her heart sank. "Enough for what?" _Oh, please don't. I know what you are going to say. But--don't._

His gaze was intense. He was not looking at her, but at some point beyond. "I must, Lyanna. The madness has truly taken him. I stood beside him against Robert, but now that the rebels are beaten back… I mean to move against my father. He is not the man he used to be." 

"I know, but…" She reached up to touch his face.

He kissed her fingers. "I will be fine, Lyanna. Do not doubt it. We are in too deep to turn back now." 

That was when she felt the first true stab of the labor pains come over her and she cried out, clasping her hands to her belly.

“Lyanna?” Rhaegar’s voice was filled with concern.

Despite the pain, Lyanna found herself smiling. “Rejoice, Rhaegar. Our son will be born tonight.”

He ignored her description of the child as a boy. His voice was two octaves higher. “Tonight? We must get you to the maester. No, I must bring the maester here. Will you be alright?”

She breathed deeply, exhaling through the pain. “Yes, I will be fine. Bring the maester. Don’t delay.”

“Is everything alright?”

“It will be, as long as you bring the maester without excessive sidetracking.”

The contraction eased. He helped her to stand. Walking would help the baby come sooner, she knew. 

“I love you,” he said in farewell.

“Wait,” she said as he made to leave. “Kiss me.”

She tasted fire, the heat of their passion. She tasted blood, and the rush was intoxicating.

It was not an easy birth.

Labor pains lasted for nearly a day, and when it finally came time to push, she was already exhausted. Her shift and sheets were soaked with sweat. Her whole body hurt. More than anything, she simply wished for it all to be over.

The maester had warm hands and a soft voice. It was all that saved her from dipping into her own madness. He kept her calm when there was a sudden rush of bleeding. He staunched the flow with cloth and stitches. When he finally handed her a tiny bundle of red skin, black hair, and squalling cries, she barely felt strong enough to hold him.

 _Our son,_ she thought triumphantly. _Behold our son, Rhaegar._

The look on her husband’s face when he was allowed back in the room and first laid eyes on their son was one she knew she would remember vividly for the rest of her life. There was a softness in his eyes, that wasn’t there even for her, and a sense of wonder. His hands trembled as he reached out to take the baby from her arms, but he deftly settled the boy into the crook of his elbow.

“Hail, Jon Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms,” Rhaegar said solemnly. Then two great tears sprang from his eyes and traced down his cheeks.

_He names our son Jon. For whom? For Connington? What means this man to Rhaegar that he would honor him so? Tis a worthy name, if simple. Jon Stark was a King in the North. He built the Wolf’s Den._

Why this random fact from her lessons with Maester Walys should come to her now, she could only attribute to the heady pain intoxication and utter weariness.

“He just finished nursing, so he should sleep for awhile.” She yawned hugely. “I should do the same. Stay with me, my love.”

“Of course,” he promised. “Always.”

Suffused with the love of her family, she drifted off, content that all was right with the world.


	6. Rhaegar III

Rhaegar did not want to leave the manse on Rhaenys' Hill where Lyanna lived with their newborn son.

 _Their son._ He still couldn't believe it. Of course, he knew that he had an equal chance of picking right, but he had been so certain the babe would be a girl. He had even named her Visenya, reincarnating the Conqueror and his sister-wives.

Jon, he had named him. Rhaegar had wanted to remember his friend in exile. He hoped one day he would be able to bring him home, let him meet his namesake. But for now, with his father still on the throne, this was all he could do. 

"Must we go?" Lyanna asked, two weeks after Jon's birth. Rhaegar had spent only the minimum amount of time at court, but today would be the day his father would make his announcements of the rewards to the victors of the war. He had been instructed to bring Lyanna and Jon. It wasn't that he feared his father, but he was not about to leave them behind. They would be safer at his side. 

"I fear we must." Rhaegar helped her up into the carriage with Ashara. "He will not harm you while I am there." _He will keep his pyromancer in check or I will do it for him._

The Red Keep was filled with people from all over the Seven Kingdoms. The guard had been tripled and Rhaegar recognized banners from the farthest reaches of the realm. This would be the day his father reasserted dominance after the recent rebellion.

"Let's go," he said, offering Lyanna his hand. She stepped down from the carriage nervously, then took Jon from Ashara. 

There was no good way to introduce her to court, he had determined. All the possibilities he had run through were flawed. As the prince, Rhaegar attracted a lot of attention. The members of the Kingsguard and the Dayne siblings moved closely around them, but he heard snatches of whispers around them. 

_"There's Lyanna Stark." “Realm-wrecking hussy.” “Scarlet woman.” “The Northern strumpet.”_

Lyanna swallowed hard and adjusted Jon in her arms. 

The throne room was filled with people. Rhaegar led Lyanna to the front of the room, where his mother and brother stood with Elia. The pyromancer was nearby as well. Rhaegar tried not to let his disgust show.

"Elia?"

"Hello, Rhaegar." She was staring straight ahead, but she presented her hand for him to kiss. "We are so glad to have you back with us. The children have missed you so much. Rhaenys keeps asking for you." She said it in a perfectly pleasant tone, but there was a darkness behind the words. 

He winced inwardly, but decided not to press it now. There would be time for talk later. "I would see them after we are through here." 

"And so you shall," she said tightly. 

"Mother." Rhaegar approached her and bowed. He noticed dark circles under her eyes. _Soon_ , he thought. _You will be free of him soon._

"My son." She kissed his cheek. "When will I hold my new grandson?"

"Later, Mother." He squeezed her hand. "We must hear what Father says first." 

"I am getting a reward," Viserys said proudly. "I am to--" 

"LYANNA!" There was a commotion and a young boy ran towards. _Benjen Stark_ , Rhaegar realized. 

Two guards grabbed him. 

"Unhand my brother," Lyanna said, her voice containing a note of command. They hesitated, looking to Rhaegar for instructions.

"Do as she says," he said, aware now that everyone was looking at them. _So this is her introduction to court_. 

Benjen ran forward and Lyanna hugged him around the shoulders. "Are you all right?" she murmured. "Did they hurt you?" 

"No." He shook his head. "The Night’s Watch brought Dom and me south, but they were good to us." 

She looked at the little boy standing behind Benjen. "Domeric Bolton," she said warmly. "Come stand with us. We Northmen will bend the knee together." Domeric trotted forward and Lyanna took his hand.

The trumpets blared, deafening anyone who stood nearby. King Aerys entered the throne room, and he ascended to his seat, perching like a gargoyle on the edge so as not to cut himself.

He spoke in a wheezing, reedy voice, not the commanding one of his youth. "Now, we're all aware there was some unpleasantness recently. A lot of fighting. All over a woman." Aerys sneered. "A woman. Foolishness, if you ask me. But the dragon takes what it wants, and the stag who disagreed is now dead." He laughed. “Let all take notice! The stag is dead, and the dragon still flies.”

Rhaegar wished that his father hadn’t taken the victory as an endorsement of his rule.

A herald stepped forward to take over the pronouncements. His voice filled the room. "Now Prince Rhaegar will tell of the victory he commanded in the Riverlands!"

Rhaegar strode forward, trying not to show that he didn't know the script of this mummer’s play. "Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jonothor Darry, of the Kingsguard, rallied the royal army after the defeat at Stony Sept. Lord Robert Baratheon and Lord Eddard Stark moved to Riverrun and joined with Lord Jon Arryn and Lord Hoster Tully. There was a double wedding, with Lord Hoster’s daughters. I took command of the royal army, met up with Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard who brought ten thousand Dornish spears. At Harroway’s ford, I slew Lord Robert in single combat, but we lost many good men that day. Ser Barristan and Prince Lewyn are two of them. I would honor their memories here today."

There was a moment of silence in the hall. 

The herald spoke again. “It is known far and wide across the Seven Kingdoms that the knights of the Kingsguard are the mightiest on life. Ser Jaime Lannister!”

“Your Grace.” The young knight stepped forward and took a knee before the throne.

“You personally slew Eddard Stark when he attempted to kill Prince Rhaegar. The king says you have carried out your duties well. You are proclaimed a Hero of the Realm, and the royal bard is commanded to compose a song to commemorate your great deeds.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“The ranks of the Kingsguard have been reduced, but there is one whose worth has become self-evident,” the herald announced. “Ser Alliser Thorne!”

“Yes, Your Grace!” Thorne was a knight who, while powerful, looked older than his thirty-five years. Rhaegar had seen him around the Red Keep, but did not know him well. 

“You remained faithfully at the king's side throughout the rebellion, stepping in when all the Kingsguard save Ser Jonothor were elsewhere. You organized volunteers for the second layer of defense. For that service, King Aerys would name you to the Kingsguard officially.”

“Thank you, Your Grace!” Thorne took a knee and bowed low. "I cannot say how grateful I am, Your Grace." 

Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stepped forward and placed the white cloak around Ser Alliser’s shoulders. Pure, unadulterated pride radiated from his face.

Rhaegar watched his father. So far, since his first pronouncement, he had been sitting silently, his eyes roaming the gallery, and for a moment, Rhaegar thought this would be the moment when he found himself singled out again, but his father had other plans. _He will make me wait, no doubt_ , Rhaegar thought. He squeezed Lyanna's arm, as the herald continued. 

“All traitors shall be punished!" he called, his voice echoing in the hall. The king leaned forward in anticipation. "Robert Baratheon rose in rebellion and perished in battle. Now his castle has fallen as well. Here to tell the tale is Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden.”

The rotund lord stepped forward, visibly nervous. Sweat trickled down his face. “The walls of Storm’s End resist all bombardment, so I placed the castle under siege from land and sea. The garrison starved, and I ordered my men to feast within sight of the walls so as to destroy morale inside. At last they were unable to resist as we climbed the walls and pushed them back. My men opened the gates, we went inside, and I accepted the surrender of Stannis Baratheon. The dragon banner flies over Storm’s End once more.”

The court burst into applause.

“After an altercation with Lord Tarly, Stannis earned himself the loss of a hand. Then I imprisoned him in his own dungeon, along with a smuggler who had run Lord Redwyne’s blockade to bring in food. Alas, during the night, the smuggler’s crew penetrated the castle, rescued their captain, and escaped. I know not what Stannis Baratheon offered to get them to take him with them, but he was also gone come the dawn.”

“What?” roared Aerys.

Lord Mace cowered back and knelt. “Two of my best men were found slain outside the cell. The only way they could have escaped is by running the blockade.”

Aerys fell to muttering, and the herald leaned in closer.

“House Baratheon is attainted, stripped of all lands, titles, and incomes. The one who brings the king the head of Stannis Baratheon will be raised to a lordship. The boy Renly Baratheon is now a ward of the crown. Storm’s End shall become a new seat of House Targaryen, headed by Prince Viserys. Ser Alliser, your first assignment as a Kingsguard shall be as the prince’s sworn shield.”

Viserys stepped forward, eyes gleaming with pride. "Thank you, Father!"

“Jon Arryn has fallen in battle. The legacy of House Arryn of the Vale is attainted, and their designated heir is disinherited, and is attainted, stripped of all lands, titles, and incomes. Their lands will be distributed as the Crown sees fit." The herald paused, but, of course, there was no one there to respond to this pronouncement. He moved on.

“Edmure Tully!”

An auburn-haired boy of nine stepped forward and knelt with both knees to the floor. He bowed down, pressed his face to the stone, and spoke in a quivering voice. “I, Edmure, of House Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, do pledge my fealty to Aerys, Second of his Name, of House Targaryen, and place myself and my domain under his protection."

”The king accepts your pledge of fealty, Lord Tully," the herald said, as the king smiled. "House Tully will pay the crown five thousand gold dragons. Your castellan shall be Ser Garth Blackmont. There is much rebellion in your family. Your two sisters were married to traitors. He finds this ambition surprising, considering the Tullys were never River Kings. The Crown will ensure you remain on your knees. House Tully is removed from their position as Lord Paramount.”

Edmure gasped and turned white as snow. House Tully had ruled the Riverlands since the Conquest. Then he pressed his face to the floor again. “As my king commands.”

“Though you will retain Riverrun, a loyal house will rule over the Riverlands. House Darry shall henceforth be Lord Paramount.”

The court murmured for a moment. Rhaegar prayed that the Seven would tell Lord Dundar of his House’s glory.

“Catelyn Stark! Lysa Arryn!” 

The two girls were pushed forward and forced to their knees, Catelyn with difficulty due to her pregnancy. Rhaegar had to fight his instincts to help her; all he could think of was that if someone had done that to Lyanna, he would have had Rhaegar's steel in his belly. He glanced over at her now. She was staring, open-mouthed, at Catelyn Stark. _Of course_ , he realized. _That is her brother's widow._

The sisters both made their fealty to King Aerys. 

“You will all remain wards of the Crown for the time being,” the herald said.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” they said together.

“Catelyn Stark, when born, your child may bear the Stark name, but it will also be a ward of the Crown, and, should it be male, shall not inherit. In time he will be encouraged to take the black or join the Citadel. If female, a suitable match shall be made.”

“Thank you, Your Grace." Catelyn's eyes never left the floor. 

Rhaegar felt Lyanna grab his arm. "He can't," she whispered. "Ned's child-"

"Shh," he murmured, without looking at her. "Not now." He had a feeling what name would be called next.

“Benjen Stark!”

Benjen looked at Lyanna, fear in his eyes. She nodded reassuringly, and he knelt before the throne. The boy was clearly nervous, but his voice did not shake. _Of course_ , Rhaegar thought. _He is as fierce as his sister._

“I, Benjen, of House Stark, Lord Paramount of the North, do pledge my fealty to Aerys, Second of his Name, of House Targaryen, and place myself and my domain under his protection.”

“Your father and brothers rose in rebellion. They have paid the price of their treason. Prince Rhaegar took your sister for himself. For her sake, the king will not execute you.”

"Thank you, Your Grace," Benjen said. He looked terrified.

“House Stark will pay the crown five thousand gold dragons. Ser Nevan Fowler is appointed as your castellan. He is a loyal Dornishman who will make sure the king’s peace remains in Winterfell.”

Lyanna then urged the other Northern boy lord, Domeric Bolton, forward to stumble through the words. House Bolton was stripped of half its lands and incomes, levied a penalty of three thousand gold dragons, and Ser Harold Manwoody was appointed as his castellan.

By the time the herald was finished pronouncing House Bolton’s punishment, Rhaegar was glaring at his father with barely concealed loathing. _This is how you celebrate your victory? By terrifying children?_

“Those who remained loyal to the dragon shall be rewarded!” bawled the herald.

There were more announcements of lands awarded to valiant knights and lords who had distinguished themselves in battle, and many lords stepped forward to reaffirm their fealty to the Iron Throne. Among them were Walder Frey, who claimed he had ignored Lord Tully’s call to arms and had been on his way to the Trident to aid Rhaegar, and Oberyn Martell, representing Dorne for his brother Prince Doran. 

At last, the king spoke. “And now for the Stark girl. Or should I say my gooddaughter?” Aerys leered at her. "So introduce us, my son. Introduce us all to the woman who so many bled and died that you might have her.”

Lyanna froze, eyes wide, Jon clasped to her breast. _The old fool_ , Rhaegar thought darkly. _He is playing with his food and everyone is too frightened of him to speak out._

He stepped in front of the throne and turned so that the whole court could see him. "I am the blood of the dragon, and I take what I want. Aegon the Conqueror ruled with his sister-wives, Visenya and Rhaenys. Did not Baelor the Blessed have three wives, all his sisters? I married Elia for duty, and I have come to love her. But when I met Lyanna, our souls called to each other like a song. The gods intended I should have two wives and children by both of them." 

Lyanna still looked frightened, but she held her head high as she stood with Benjen and Domeric. Beside the queen, Elia was still stone-faced. _I am speaking for him_ , Rhaegar willed her to know. _Not for anyone else._

In Lyanna's arms, Jon began to fuss. Aerys turned his head. "Ah, yes," he said. "The babe. Bring him here. Let me look on him."

Rhaegar held his breath. Lyanna stepped forward, soothing Jon as she went. "Here, Your Grace," she said, holding up Jon.

The king peered down at the babe. _If he hurts him_ , Rhaegar thought. _I will kill him with my bare hands._ The king had not permitted any blades in the Red Keep, so Rhaegar had been forced to leave his behind. Still, it mattered not, if he was angry enough. 

Jon had stopped crying. He looked up into his grandfather's face, transfixed. 

"Are you sure he is yours, Rhaegar?" the king asked, looking amused. "He looks all Stark to me." 

"I am certain," Rhaegar said, more to the whole court than to his father. "This is my son Jon Targaryen. I name him Prince of the Seven Kingdoms." 

Aerys considered the child for a few moments longer. Jon remained as stoic as a babe of three weeks could. Rhaegar thanked the gods for that. 

"Very well," the king said. "Then I name him head of another new branch of House Targaryen, as I did his Uncle Viserys. Prince Jon's seat will be the Eyrie. Are there any objections?" He eyed Rhaegar.

 _Does he think I mean to set Aegon aside in favor of Jon?_ he wondered. 

"No objections, Your Grace," he said. 

Finally, the mad king's pantomime was over. The king left the throne room with his guards and gradually, others began to leave, too. Before Rhaegar could go to Elia, she left with his mother. Many other courtiers stood around, gossiping about the proceedings. Rhaegar noticed Lyanna was watching Lysa Arryn, now hugging her crying sister. 

"Later-" he began, but she was already striding forward, Jon in one arm, Domeric Bolton clinging to the other. 

Rhaegar glanced at Benjen. "Your sister is a formidable woman." 

For the first time, he saw the youngest Stark boy's smile. "Yes, my prince."

Rhaegar put a hand on his shoulder. "That's not necessary. We're kin. Come. Let us see to the ladies." 

They approached the Tully party just in time to hear Catelyn's voice rise. "We don't want your pity! It's your fault our father is dead!"

A guard reached out to smack her, but Rhaegar seized his hand, twisting it hard. "I think not," he said. "I recall my father said these good people were to be under the Crown's _protection_."

"But, my prince--"

"That I am," Rhaegar said coldly. "So you'd best do as I say." He released the man's hand. "Apologize to Lady Catelyn."

The guard gave him a surly look, but he muttered, "I'm sorry, milady." 

Catelyn looked at Rhaegar like she didn't know what to make of him. 

Lyanna looked at Rhaegar. "They must dine with us," she said, as if she'd already decided. "Lady Catelyn is my goodsister. Our children will be of an age. I would be friends with Lady Lysa, as well. I'm sure Edmure must be lonely here in the city. He would make a good companion for Benjen." 

Rhaegar stared at Lyanna, her chin raised in defiance. He could not refuse her. Perhaps his father would not object if it was in the guise of Rhaegar exercising his rights over the wards of the Crown. 

When he looked at her that way, all he could think of was the day he'd come upon her at the Harrenhal tourney. 

He had been sent to chase down the mystery knight his father took for an enemy. He'd found her in a clearing, struggling out of her mismatched borrowed armor. He had been so amused that a maid of six and ten could have unhorsed three grown knights that all he'd been able to do was stare, until he'd started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" she'd snapped, struggling to get her breastplate off.

"It was you," he wheezed. He knew he shouldn’t have laughed; it could have been dangerous for her if anyone else had found her and brought her to his father.

"Yes, and?" She glowered at him, then seemed to realize who he was. "Oh! Your Grace!" She tried to take a knee, but stumbled over her greaves.

That had been his first impression of her, and as he'd helped her up and they'd gotten to talking, that was when he had known. 

_This is meant to be_ , he thought, as he watched her talk with the Tullys. _I am on the right path. I must not back down. The rebellion is over, but there is more work to be done and it must happen soon._

He could only hope his convictions were right. 


	7. Viserys II

Viserys generally enjoyed his lessons with Grand Maester Pycelle. He was always prompt or even a little early to arrive. He often lingered long past when the lesson should have ended. Pycelle loved to listen to his own voice, so this was never an issue.

He opened the door and broke into a smile even before learning today’s topics.

“Rhaegar!”

Viserys stepped forward and embraced his brother.

“What a pleasant surprise,” he declared. “Are you taking me away from my lesson?”

Rhaegar smiled gently. “No, young dragon. Not this day. I needed to consult the Grand Maester on a matter of childcare, but I also wanted to recommend today’s subject: heraldry.”

“I like heraldry!” It was one of his favorite subjects. “Have you seen my new arms?”

“No!” Rhaegar said, looking amazed. “You have your own now, at the age of seven?”

“I’m the Prince of Storm’s End,” Viserys said pompously. “I need my own standard.”

“That is true. You will be head of your own house. Do you have a sketch of it? Can you describe it to me?”

Viserys puffed himself up. He had practiced this over and over again until he had it correct. “Sable, a dragon thrice-headed or.”

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. “An interesting choice. What made you-”

“Father suggested it and I really liked it.”

“He suggested it?”

“Well, we were talking about it. He suggested a lot of things. I think a gold dragon would be terrific. You know Sunfyre was a gold dragon. He was the dragon of King Aegon the Second.”

“Do you know what happened to Sunfyre, Viserys?” Rhaegar said in a serious tone.

Viserys’ enthusiasm crashed to a halt. “Killed during the Dance,” he said quietly.

Rhaegar nodded affirmatively. “The Dance must never happen again. Ever. We are united by blood, and blood we trust.”

“Fire and blood.” The words of House Targaryen. _Will I need new words now that I have my own house at Storm’s End?_

“Fire and blood. Now, today’s lesson will be on the heraldry of the Stormlands.”

“I’ve studied that already,” Viserys protested.

“Then the lesson will be short, won’t it?” Rhaegar said with a grin. “As the Prince of the Stormlands, Viserys, you will need to know them all. You will have to know their castles, their lands, their alliances, their rivalries, and their feuds. You will have to manipulate them all, and behind the manipulation, there is the promise of the destruction their houses. Keep them divided so they do not unite against you, and when you punish one the others will take it as a lesson.”

“I know all of the heraldry, the houses, and the seats.”

“Much to learn, then.”

“I’ll study hard, Rhaegar. You’ll see.”

Rhaegar smiled again. “I know you will. Now, I will return for you after the lesson. There are many things I want to tell you before you go.”

“Can’t we talk now?”

“The maester’s time is valuable. It would be rude to abuse his service. When you go to Storm’s End, the maester will be the same maester who served the Baratheons. You must not hold that against him. His order is neutral. They serve the castle to which they are stationed. They wear a chain of servitude, but they are wise men and command respect.”

“Like Uncle Aemon of the Night’s Watch.” Viserys found Aemon’s story intriguing. He couldn’t understand why the man had refused the crown.

“Yes. One day I will take you to meet him. For now, I leave you to the very capable Grand Maester.” Rhaegar bowed slightly and turned to the old man. “Thank you, maester, for your assistance.”

The old man bobbed his head. “It was my pleasure, my prince.”

“Bye, Rhaegar!”

Pycelle settled into his teaching pose. “Now, my prince, you will have many responsibilities as the Prince of the Stormlands. You must maintain the king’s peace. You must collect taxes from your lords. You must lead your lords in battle. Hopefully you will not have the need for many years.”

Viserys liked the idea of battle. “I want to be a knight!”

“I know, my prince. We begin with House Baratheon.”

“They are attainted. We don’t need to talk about them.”

“They ruled the Stormlands for two hundred-eighty years, my prince. You should know something about them.”

“Or, a stag salient, crowned, sable.”

“Very good, my prince! Before them, we have House Durrandon. Tell me what you remember of House Durrandon.”

“Orys Baratheon killed Argilac Durrandon, called the Arrogant, the Storm King, in a battle at Bronzegate. Then he married his daughter and took over their house.”

“A very sloppy recollection,” the maester chided him. “What are the roots of the battle at Bronzegate?”

Viserys concentrated intently. “The Conquest?”

“Yes, and?”

“Aegon sent his sister Rhaenys with Orys, and it was Rhaenys and Meraxes who won the day.”

“Correct. Argilac had tried to arrange a match between his daughter Argella and Lord Aegon with the aim of allying against Harren the Black, of House Hoare, King of the Isles and the Rivers. Lord Aegon counter-offered with Orys, his childhood friend and companion, and Argilac was deeply insulted by being offered a bastard for his princess. He had the hands of Lord Aegon’s envoy cut off and sent to Dragonstone with a highly offensive note.”

“And that’s when Aegon began the Conquest!”

“Indeed. He landed here, in what is now King’s Landing, and built a base of operations, called Aegonfort. Lords Rosby and Stokeworth put up a token resistance but knelt almost immediately. Not so Lord Darklyn of Duskendale and Lord Mooton of Maidenpool, who joined their power and marched south with three thousand men. Lord Aegon sent Orys Baratheon and the Targaryen soldiers to intercept them, whilst he descended on them from above with Balerion. It was an overwhelming victory for House Targaryen. Lords Darklyn and Mooton were both killed in the fighting, and their heirs knelt to Lord Aegon.”

“He wasn’t King Aegon then?”

“No, he was crowned shortly thereafter. Queen Visenya claimed most of Duskendale for herself, and at the time it was the largest port on this coast. Possessing it made many actions of the Conquest easier. Then King Aegon sent Queen Visenya and Lord Daemon Velaryon to conquer Gulltown, an action that was a draw, for both forces were destroyed, but a strategic failure for the Targaryens.

“We did conquer the Vale.”

“Yes, but not at the first attempt. Even King Aegon had some trouble with Harren Hoare. Though victorious at the Battle of the Reeds, he suffered heavy losses at the Wailing Willows when two of Harren’s sons crossed the Gods’ Eye with muffled oars in their longships.”

“But Aegon and Balerion burned them up!”

“Yes, but the losses were significant. It was then that Harren made a fatal mistake. Lord Tully and many other riverlords hated Harren for his treatment of House Bracken and House Blackwood. They joined forces and marched to Harrenhal, the mightiest fortress in Westeros, only just completed. They were great in numbers and joined the Targaryen troops in besieging Harren in his own castle.”

“And then Aegon came!”

“Yes, King Aegon attempted a parley, offering honorable terms. Harren, confident in the strength of his walls, refused to yield. After the sun set, King Aegon and Balerion utterly destroyed Harrenhal, burning men, supplies, and even the towers and walls.”

“They melted like candles!”

“So the reports say. The next day, King Aegon accepted the fealty of Lord Edmyn Tully and elevated him to Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, for he had been the first to bend the knee to the true king.”

“And because we gave it to them, we can take it away!” Father had told Viserys of his plans for House Tully.

“Yes, my prince. Just as King Aegon gave the castle of Storm’s End to the man they say was his only friend, Orys Baratheon. Argilac Durrandon had heard about the fate of Harren the Black and the extinction of House Hoare. He was determined not to meet the same fate, so he summoned his bannermen and rode to war.”

“At Bronzegate.”

“Yes, my prince. The ability to scout from the air gave Queen Rhaenys a distinct advantage. Orys used her information to fortify a strong defensive position. They would allow the enemy to come to them. The defenders were outnumbered greatly, and Argilac pressed the attack. He did break through their lines eventually, but he came face to face with Rhaenys and Meraxes.”

“But she didn’t kill him.”

“No, my prince. He was thrown from his horse, and he somehow wound up in a duel with Orys. It was a magnificent fight, and I have an account of it should you wish to borrow it. Orys was wounded, but Argilac was dead.”

“The last Storm King.”

“There was one more. Princess Argella crowned herself Storm Queen and garrisoned herself inside Storm’s End. Her garrison, having no wish to burn as Harren had, turned on her.”

Viserys’ temper flared. “Disloyalty is punished by death!”

“They delivered Queen Argella to Orys naked and in chains. The Seven only know what mistreatment she suffered at their hands. Orys could have done whatever he wanted with her, but he chose to clothe her, feed her, and marry her. He took House Durrandon’s heraldry and words for himself, and Aegon later appointed him Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.”

“I know that,” Viserys said peevishly. “I don’t want to talk about stags anymore. Were there any stormlords who stayed loyal? I want to know about them.”

“Lord Gulian Swann of Stonehelm was quick to write to the king and proclaim his loyalty. He claimed that Lord Robert threatened him with annihilation if he did not raise his banner. The king understands what a madman Lord Robert was and forgave Lord Gulian. House Swann is an old and noble house. It seems that many of the marcher lords stayed behind to guard against Dornish incursion. That is hardly treason. Why, it goes back to the reaches of history! House Swann, House Dondarrion, House Caron, and House Selmy have all been accepted back into the king’s peace. More will follow once appropriate measures have been taken.”

Viserys liked the sound of ‘appropriate measures’.

The maester continued. “Many rebel lords died in battle. There are many houses that now have a child lord. Some houses have even been extinguished. The Crown has reserved the right to name new lords for the next year, but after that, you will be able to award castles, lands, and titles within the Stormlands.”

The lessons on the stormlords lasted nearly two hours, by which point Viserys was practically crawling off the walls while waiting for Rhaegar to return. His attempt to be dignified failed utterly.

Rhaegar chuckled. “I see you’ve been giving Grand Maester Pycelle a hard time of it. My apologies, maester.”

“I have taught far more rebellious youth, my prince. It is of no matter.”

“You do not mention me by name.”

“I wasn’t counting you, my prince. You were ever an eager student.”

“Yes, but I was obnoxious in my own way. A good day to you, maester.”

“And to you both, my princes.”

Rhaegar and Viserys walked side by side. _Just like a knight and his squire._

“How did the lessons go, Viserys? Are you excited about your new seat?”

Viserys was quivering with excitement. “I _am_ , Rhaegar! I can’t wait to explore an entire new castle. It’s going to be so amazing.” He sobered for a moment. “I’m going to miss you.”

“And I you, brother. We will find excuses to visit often.”

After a moment, Viserys couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. “So what are we doing?”

“I wanted to talk about our cousin Renly.”

Father had talked about his cousin Steffon and his sons, Robert and Stannis. Viserys had forgotten about Renly. “The traitor?”

Rhaegar stopped walking and looked directly at him. “He’s a boy of six years,” he said firmly. “He has no more control over what his brothers did than he might over the winter snows. Robert has been slain, and Stannis is fled. Renly is a ward of the crown now, and Father has decided he will remain at Storm’s End, with you. He will be your companion and hopefully friend.”

“Friend?”

“Yes. If there had been no rebellion, it is possible that he might have been sent to court. Father and Steffon Baratheon were close in their youth. It was why he trusted Steffon enough to send him to Volantis looking for my wife. You know of Orys Baratheon?”

“Yes, he was Aegon the Conqueror’s bastard brother.”

“True, but they were also dear friends. They were friends because they grew up together. Aegon placed him in command of an army. As Orys was to Aegon, so Renly must become for you. You will need loyal friends in your position. You will have to win him over. He is not likely to be very receptive at first. You have all of the Targaryen charm. Use it. Make him love you better than his brothers by blood.”

“I will, Rhaegar. I promise.”

“Good.”

“So the war is over now. Now will you train me at arms and make me your squire and take me on adventures and-”

“Pray peace, young dragon! Yes, I did say that you would begin your lessons at arms in earnest once I returned. So you shall, but not with me.”

“Aww,” Viserys whined. “Why not?”

“We’ll be in two places. I have much to see to here in the capitol. You want to begin immediately, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you will learn from Ser Alliser. He is your sworn shield, and one of the finest knights in the realm. I have no doubts that he will train you up properly.”

 _A Kingsguard to train me at arms?_ “I suppose that would be acceptable. I wish it could be you.”

“It does no good to waste emotion on what cannot be,” Rhaegar said in a strange tone.

“No, I suppose not.”

“I have already instructed Ser Alliser to select some knights to form a Prince’s Guard.”

“I thought he was my sworn shield.”

“Even a sworn shield must eat and sleep and shit, Viserys,” Rhaegar admonished him gently.

He had the grace to flush. “You’re right, of course.”

“The guard will be for all the times he cannot be there. They will be paired, for it takes at least two regular knights to match a Kingsguard.”

Viserys laughed. The white knights were the mightiest on life.

“I’m transferring a thousand men to your garrison under the command of Ser Richard Lonmouth. He is a good man, an admirable knight, and a clever commander.”

“That’s a lot.”

“It is a lot, but Storm’s End is a mighty castle and must be made strong. You may have other needs for them as well. Only the gods can know. Better to be prepared, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Rhaegar.”

“Lord Mace Tyrell will escort you to Storm’s End. He will then collect his army and go home.”

“And I’ll be in charge? Father said I could do whatever I wanted.”

“Within reason. There does need to be a responsible adult to see to the day-to-day affairs of the castle. I will send someone to you who will be your castellan.”

“Thank you, Rhaegar! All that stuff sounds boring.”

“It is. It is necessary, though.”

“If you say so.”

“The men like to get paid,” Rhaegar said dryly. “The boring paperwork makes sure they do. Now, I think that just about covers everything I wanted to say. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Rhaegar. Renly is my ward, and I have to make him my friend so I can put him in command of my troops. Ser Alliser is going to train me at arms. Can he train Renly too?”

“That would be nice. Yes.”

“Bully! Ser Alliser is going to train _us_ at arms. You’re giving me a thousand men for my castle and Ser Richard Lonmouth is in command. Oh, and Ser Alliser is recruiting knights for my personal guard.”

“Good. Now, how would you like to go see your nephew?”

 _A baby? How wondrous._ “I would like that very much.”


	8. Lyanna III

Lyanna was not in the habit of regretting things, but when the carriage bearing the Tully party passed through the gates of their manse, she came very close to doing so. 

"It will be fine," she said aloud, to reassure herself, as she descended the stairs to greet them.

"I never said it wouldn't be," Rhaegar said, from the bottom of the stairs where he stood with Benjen and the Dayne siblings. He looked serious; it was only that he hadn't said it.

"I know." She took his arm. "But I know you have your doubts."

"I may, but I dared not stop you." His lips held the ghost of a smirk. 

The front door opened and Lyanna threw her shoulders back, imagining the weight and the tension spilling off them. "Sister! I'm so glad you came."

Catelyn smiled woodenly. "Thank you for inviting us," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She held her newborn babe close to her chest. Lyanna could not help but stare at her nephew. _Ned's son._ Catelyn caught her eye and turned away. Beside her, young Edmure was silent.

Lysa was smiling widely. “Thank you, Princess Lyanna. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

 _Princess Lyanna,_ she thought dazedly. _I am married to a Prince and I am a Princess._

Rhaegar stepped forward and spoke to the men-at-arms. “Thank you, men. Avail yourself of the Hound and Hare two streets over. I will send for you when the ladies are ready to return.”

The sergeant stepped back and bowed. "As you command, my prince." He turned and left. His men followed. 

Lyanna smiled. "Now, I think we can have a pleasant dinner.”

Once inside, Rhaegar said, “Catelyn, Lysa, allow me to introduce Aerryk Dayne, Lord of Starfall, and his sister, Lady Ashara. Ser Arthur you will know by reputation." 

Lord Aerryk bowed. "A pleasure, my ladies." Lyanna could see the pain in his eyes at the use of his title, so soon after his father had fallen at Stony Sept.

Ashara smiled at the girls. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"You as well," Lysa said warmly. She eyed the young, handsome Lord of Starfall appreciatively.

Catelyn still looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. 

Lyanna watched the two Tully women intently. Lysa looked totally relaxed and at ease; Catelyn looked on the cusp of anger. She clutched her baby closely, as though someone might tear him away from her.

"I hope we can be friends," Lyanna said. "I'm afraid you will need friends here."

"Is that a threat?" Catelyn asked sharply.

"Not at all!" _But I can see why she thinks it. I must look as if I have played an awful part in this mummer’s show._ "I mean it, truly." She paused. "Catelyn, I regret missing your wedding."

"I imagine you were indisposed," she said primly.

"Cat!" Lysa hissed. “Stop being bitchy.”

"No, she is right," Lyanna said. "I was." She tried to smile. _It is time I faced it_ , she thought. _I could stay here surrounded by Rhaegar and our friends and all their support, but I am the reason the realm went to war. I should face those who have suffered because of me._ "Catelyn, you will want to take Hoster up to the nursery. He won't be any trouble."

Catelyn looked down at her child reluctantly. 

"Go on, Cat," Lysa urged. "They won't hurt him." 

Catelyn said nothing, but she followed Lyanna up the stairs. In the nursery, Wylla was rocking Jon.

"Good evening, my lady," she said with a warm smile. "Is this my second little charge for the night?"

"Yes. This is my nephew, Hoster Stark."

Lyanna turned to Catelyn, who looked reluctant to leave Hoster. "Wylla is a good nurse," Lyanna told her. "She has come here from Starfall. She cared for Ashara and her brothers when they were small." She held out her arms. "May I?"

Catelyn turned her body away and went to lie Hoster in the crib without a word. "I won't have you touch him," she said, iron in her voice. "He has no father because of you. No future."

Lyanna couldn't argue with that. All she could do was watch, as her eyes stung with tears she could not let fall. _This last piece of Ned…_ She settled for looking on him, lying there, looking confused. There was no trace of Ned in him. The babe looked all Tully. Wylla soon laid Jon beside him and picked Hoster up, murmuring to him.

Catelyn said nothing to her as they went back downstairs and into the dining room. Lyanna noticed that Lysa was listening engagingly to the conversation. Catelyn took a seat beside her sister, face drawn.

"Well, it truly does look like we'll have another few years of winter," Aerryk said. The weather was a neutral topic.

"A shame," Lysa said. "The spring of a few years ago was a false taste." 

The talk drifted from the weather, to people they had seen at court. Lyanna kept trying to draw Catelyn into the conversation, but she was unsuccessful. 

She also watched Benjen throughout the meal. He and Edmure were having their own conversation at the end of the table. _It will be good for him to have a companion. He’s been so sullen and quiet since we brought him here to the manse._ She would not have left him in the Red Keep for anything, but she still felt guilt every time she looked at her brother, her last remaining family member.

 _No_ , she told herself. _That way lies madness. All we can do is move forward._

After dinner, Edmure and Benjen went off together. Now was the time to share what she was going to share. She turned to Lysa and Catelyn, who still looked uncomfortable. _How would I feel if our positions were reversed? They are wards of the crown. They are at our mercy, at the king's mercy. And the Mad King has almost none._

“I am truly sorry for the tragedy I caused." _How can I tell them?_ She looked around the room. Ashara and Aerryk knew the truth, as did Rhaegar, of course. “I beg your forgiveness.”

"A nice apology," Catelyn said. "But it will not bring our husbands back, nor our lord father."

"Ned was her brother, Cat," Lysa said. "She must mourn him as well."

"I do." It hurt to force the words out. "It pains me that I could not have told him before his death that this whole war has been for naught." _For naught but Robert's rage._

"So you say our father died for naught?" Catelyn said, her voice rising two octaves.

“Your father died because he rose against his king,” Rhaegar put in. “It was a foolish decision. He had no grievance against the Iron Throne.”

“The king killed my betrothed.”

“Your betrothed rode to King’s Landing and demanded my blood,” Rhaegar replied calmly. “He assumed that I had taken Lyanna against her will.”

“You may as well have,” Catelyn snapped.

Lysa pinched Catelyn’s arm. “Are you trying to get yourself thrown in the dungeons? Watch your tone with the prince.”

"No," Lyanna said firmly. "She has said nothing invalid. I told no one I was going nor why. That was foolish of me. You should know my reasons. I did not wish to marry Robert. I had heard many things about him, disquieting things, and I knew I could not love such a man.” She turned to her husband. “I know you had your convictions, Rhaegar, but it was not just you and me who were affected. They must know my mind."

Rhaegar frowned, but he held her gaze. "I never wanted you dragged into the middle of a war." 

"And yet I had to be, my love. It is past us now. I have no regrets about our decision to marry, only what else we did." She turned back to Catelyn and Lysa. "It is for more than love that I followed Rhaegar. Were he to have sought me for mere dalliance, or even were there to be only the love we share, I would have refused him.” She glanced up at Rhaegar. “There is a prophecy. He has done more reading on it than I."

"And I know nothing when compared to Maester Aemon, my relative at the Wall." He sighed. "I will tell you what we know. We have found this prophecy across at least three cultures. Those who worship the Red God in the East call him Azor Ahai. The Old Valyrians called him simply the prince that was promised. And Aemon has told me of an old story in the North that may be related, too." 

"You have done all this for a story?" Catelyn asked incredulously. 

"Aemon had been studying the prophecy for years. He believes there is a darkness coming, as there was in the old days. The Long Night."

"The Long Night?" Catelyn repeated. "That was thousands of years ago."

"Yes," Rhaegar said, "and the prophecy is thousands of years old. The Long Night may be coming again. I believe that is what the prophecy tells us. There are too many commonalities, across too many cultures. There must be some truth to it that is now lost to us, lost to history. Aemon says only a few maesters have even acknowledged the existence of the prophecy. The red priests of R'Hllor believe in the rebirth of Azor Ahai. Lyanna told me she has heard the story of the Last Hero since childhood." 

"And how did you decide it applied to you?" Lysa asked. "In all the thousand years, why you? Why now?"

Rhaegar said, "I have spent many hours pouring over books and scrolls. It is why I became a warrior. I have devoted my life to it. It's a conviction that goes deeper than you can fathom. Would you like to see the literature for yourself? I would be happy to sit with you and translate line-by-line. Or do you read High Valyrian, my lady?"

Catelyn bit her lip. "Then why did you not tell someone? Why did you not tell Lord Robert?"

Rhaegar gave a bark of mirthless laughter. "Do you think he would have believed me? He never even considered that Lyanna may not have loved him but loved me instead, that she went willingly and not by force. As if I could have kidnapped a warrior maid such as she. He was ever a fighter, no scholar. This would not have stopped him." 

She seemed to consider this. "And if this is true…?"

"Then this fight was not without purpose. It was for the future of the Seven Kingdoms." 

"With respect, my prince, this still seems strange to me." 

"As it should, my lady." Rhaegar smiled weakly. "It took me most of my life to become used to it. I do not expect you to do the same in an evening."

"I do wish we could have gone about this another way," Lyanna said. "That is little comfort, I know, and it will not bring my brothers back. But I hope we can move on from here. Our children will be of an age. They are cousins and I want them to know each other."

"Of course, my princess," Catelyn murmured.

"There's no need for that," Lyanna told her. "I need friends here." She glanced at Ashara. "There aren't many who knew about me, and I'm afraid there aren't many who support me." _I will reach out to Elia, but not now. It is too early._ "I would be honored to call you friend."

Lysa smiled broadly. "Thank you, my princess. We are grateful to be under the Crown's protection."

"My protection here," Lyanna said. She supposed that eventually she would be moved to the Red Keep but for now she did not want to leave this comfortable house, far from court and the king. She turned to Lysa. "Walk in the garden with me. It is a beautiful night."

She ignored Rhaegar's worried look as she led Lysa from the dining room. 

"I am sorry for my sister's behavior," Lysa said, as soon as they were alone.

"Do not trouble yourself. I can't imagine I would act any differently in her position. Her husband and father are dead. Her child…" She paused. "The king has terrible plans for her child. I will do all in my power to stop them, but he is the king and I am only the prince's second wife. There is only so much I can do."

"She will come around," Lysa said. 

"Your father and husband are dead, too," Lyanna said. "You have every right to hate me just the same as she." 

Lysa laughed. It was an unusual laugh, not an amused one. "I had little reason to love my husband, and my father had betrayed my trust as well."

Lyanna knew the marriage had been to secure the alliance between the Riverlands, the North, and the Vale. "Such a marriage is not unusual in wartime." 

"Aye, but I loved another. Father deemed him not good enough." Lysa's face was hard. "He loved me, too, but Father would not make the match. He made me drink the moon tea."

"I'm sorry," Lyanna murmured. _She confesses her shame to a near stranger. No wonder she accepted my overture so easily._ "Who was he?"

"A ward of our father's. He was a Valeman by the name of Baelish." In the torchlight, she looked sad. "Father sent him away." 

"We…" Lyanna paused. "We will make a match for you. I cannot promise you your beloved, but perhaps we can try."

Lysa's face lit up. "I understand it may not be possible. The thought is most appreciated." 

“Is your condition widely known?” The more who knew about her shame, the harder it would be to make a match for her. It was bad enough being traitor-kin and -widow. House Tully would not be able to make any further alliances with either of them. It would keep them weak.

Lysa shook her head. "Father and that old maester. I didn't even know what it was, what they'd given me." Her eyes filled with tears. "Then they married me to that old man so that I could never have Petyr. You understand what it's like to be betrothed to a man you cannot love." She looked at Lyanna, eyes shining in the torchlight. "You ran away with your love. I would have done the same with Petyr if I could."

Lyanna clasped her hands. Could she have borne being married to Robert? She had never heard anyone speak ill of Jon Arryn, but anyone who was not her true love would be torture. "I do understand. I will help you, if I can. I promise." 

Lysa smiled. "Oh, Princess. I knew we were lucky to be in such good care. Thank you."

 _At least I can do something_ , Lyanna thought. _It may be more than Rhaegar can do, but I only promised to try._


	9. Viserys III

Lord Mace was a boring travel companion, Viserys decided. He talked about boring things, like harvests, gardening, and food. Viserys liked food as much as the next growing boy, but talking about it for more than ten minutes was deadly dull. He had taken to riding with Ser Richard Lonmouth, whom Rhaegar had placed in command of the new garrison.

Ser Richard had been Rhaegar’s own squire, knighted by his hand. Viserys was insanely jealous of the man, and it manifested in imitation. After all, if Rhaegar had approved of this man and made him a knight, then he must be worthy. _I will do well to imitate a worthy knight. I am a lucky boy. I get two of the finest knights to teach me._

His sworn shield, Ser Alliser, had picked six fine knights to form the Prince’s Guard. With himself as the seventh, it was a model of the true Kingsguard. Ser Bertram, Ser Ernest, Ser Oskyr, Ser Grover, Ser Telmund, and Ser Mumford were all now a step closer to wearing the white cloak. 

The kingsroad led directly to Storm’s End, and as they turned the bend Viserys got to see his new home for the first time. It was a massive fortress. The outer curtain wall was a hundred feet high and forty feet thick on the landward side. It was nearly eighty feet thick on its seaward side, he remembered. One huge drum tower crowned with formidable battlements rose up behind the walls, and at this distance it appeared to be a single huge, spiked fist thrusting towards the sky in defiance.

_Their defiance is ended. Now it is my seat. The Conquest continues._

Though Lord Tyrell had taken the castle, he had not raised his own banner. The royal banner flew above the main tower.

_Soon I will raise my own standard. I can see it now. That red dragon looks terrific, and the gold one will be even better._

The castle was waiting for their arrival. The drawbridge was already lowered, the portcullis up, and as Viserys rode in with Ser Alliser at his side, he saw that everyone had gathered in the yard.

As they passed through, Viserys marvelled at how smooth the curving wall was. The stones were so well placed and so perfectly together. He could hear the crashing waves of the sea one hundred fifty feet below. 

The herald announced him. "Viserys of House Targaryen, Prince of the Stormlands!" he announced. All throughout the courtyard, everyone went down on one knee. 

Ser Alliser dismounted and made to help Viserys, but he wanted to do it himself.

"Lord Tyrell," the prince said. "Thank you for holding my castle for me."

"It was an honor, my lord prince."

"You may tell your men to withdraw. Ser Richard, I place you in command of the garrison. Keep my castle strong."

"Yes, my lord prince!"

Viserys went over to the boy who knelt next to the maester. This could only be his cousin. 

"Your name is Renly, right?" 

“Yes.” The other boy kept his head down. "My lord prince."

"Rise." 

Renly stood. He was half a head shorter than Viserys, and quite scrawny. His black hair was limp and lifeless. His eyes were sunken and hollow. Viserys shuddered. _He looks extremely scary._

"Rise, maester."

"Greetings, my lord prince. I am Maester Cressen. I serve the master of this castle."

Viserys nodded. "My brother told me that maesters are always neutral. I will be glad to hear your wise counsel."

"And I will be glad to give it, my lord prince."

Viserys then turned to the courtyard at large. "I hope you will all serve me well. Most of you are new here, as am I, but I thank those who served the previous occupants who have stayed on to serve me. Rise and go about your business."

The servants did as he commanded.

Viserys turned to Maester Cressen. "I would see my new bedchamber now."

"Of course, my lord prince." He led Viserys toward the main tower.

Maester Cressen chattered as they walked. "The kitchens are that way. There is food again, for which we are grateful."

"I bet you’re glad to not be hungry anymore, right, Renly?" There was no reply. Viserys turned to look, but Renly wasn’t there. _How odd. I wonder why he didn’t come with us._

The lord’s bedchamber had been vacant since Robert left for war. Since the castle’s fall, the servants had cleaned the room but had not changed anything. There were stags and antlers _everywhere_. Everything was black and gold.

_The colors match, but this stag stuff must go. I want dragons! I wonder if Father would let me have one of the big skulls from the Red Keep. I bet it would look great in my throne room. Do I get to call it a throne room? My great hall, then._

The clothing in the wardrobe was all enormous and embroidered with stags. "Get rid of all these clothes. Burn them."

Maester Cressen replied, "My lord prince, consider that there may be other purposes for these clothes."

Viserys was cross with whoever had prepared his room. "Why did they leave them? I can’t wear them."

"Give them to the beggars," Cressen suggested. "The stag is attainted. No noble will wear it, but smallfolk care not for such things."

Viserys considered the proposal. 

"The smallfolk will be grateful for the warm clothing. A kind gesture surely would help them accept you as their Prince."

Viserys was persuaded. "Very well. All clothing with the Baratheon symbol is to be gathered and given to the smallfolk."

"Yes, my lord prince."

"You are already demonstrating your wisdom, Maester Cressen. Thank you. Now, where is my great hall?"

The maester led the way to a large hall where the servants were preparing for lunch. The first thing Viserys saw when he entered the hall made him snarl. Dominating the wall was a grand tapestry, ancient and intricate, depicting stags as lords of the forest.

"Yes, stag clothing will be given to the smallfolk, but anything not useful, such as banners and tapestries, is to be burned. Get that thing down from there. It offends me."

_I will need a new tapestry in its place. Dragons rule here now._

Suddenly Viserys heard someone crying. Curious, he investigated. He followed the sound outside to the courtyard where he found his cousin Renly crying and two pages nearby. 

_He must have gone off to play with these boys. But they made him cry! How dare they? They dare to wake the dragon?_

"What's going on here?" he snarled. 

The two pages, Emmon and Parmen, he vaguely recalled, stopped laughing and took a knee. Renly was crying too hard to even notice that Viserys was there. He put a hand on his shoulder and repeated, "What's going on?"

Emmon's face was pink. "He asked us to play, my lord prince. We won't play with the traitor."

Viserys' face looked stern. "His brothers may be traitors, but he is only a little boy and of my blood. 

Emmon's eyes went wide. "We're sorry, my lord prince. I--" 

"I understand your wanting to show your loyalty to House Targaryen, but Renly is my family's ward. You will treat him with more respect."

"Yes, my prince," they murmured. 

Viserys turned to Renly. He quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Are you all right, Renly?" 

Renly nodded and hiccupped. "Yes. My lord prince."

Viserys put his hand on Renly's shoulder. "Come and play with me now." He led him away from the two pages. "If your brothers had not rebelled, you might have been sent to court as my companion. We are kin. Do you feel better?"

"Yes. My lord prince."

"Good. This is Ser Alliser." He indicated the Kingsguard knight, who just looked down at Renly with piercing eyes. "He will teach me arms. You must learn, too. Would you like that?"

“Yes, my lord prince.”

They went into the castle. Everyone who passed them bowed. 

"What do you want to play?" Renly asked. "I can show you my toys."

"They're still unpacking my toys," Viserys said. "We can play with yours."

They climbed the stairs to Renly's room. Ser Alliser was only a step behind. "Is he with you all the time?" Renly whispered to Viserys.

"He must be. I am a royal prince. I must have a sworn shield."

"Oh." 

In his bedroom, Renly led Viserys over to his toybox. He pushed up the lid and began digging around inside. 

"Do you want to ride horses?" he asked, pulling out his hobby horses. "This is my courser and this is my destrier." 

Viserys stared at for him for a moment. _Didn’t he see me riding a real horse this morning? Be patient. Rhaegar said I must treat him gently, for he has been led astray by his brothers._

"All right," Viserys finally said and Renly relaxed. 

"You can ride the destrier," he said generously, handing one of the toy horses over. "His name is Fury. This one is called Thunder."

Viserys took Fury and threw his leg over the stick. _I will humor him for a little while. Rhaegar said I must be nice to him._

"Where shall we ride?" Renly asked. 

"You must show me around the castle. I'm new here, but you must know everything."

"I do," Renly said proudly. 

They ran up and down the great hall, making servants dodge out of the way. 

"This is fun," Viserys said, as they rounded the high table. "I think I will like having a castle of my own."

Renly didn’t respond.

Viserys said, "Where are your pets? In the Red Keep, we had lots of animals."

"We ate them." 

Viserys couldn’t believe what he’d heard. "You what?"

"We ate them. We didn’t have any food for a very long time. I know you have had real horses forever, but we ate ours. We ate my pony and my kitten and Stannis' hawks. I didn't like hawk but dog was all right."

“You ate a kitten?”

“Yup. She was pretty scrawny, though, so we didn’t get much from her.”

“What did it taste like?” Viserys said curiously. “The strangest thing I’ve ever eaten is lobster. I can’t believe a big red bug tastes good, but if you soak the meat in butter I can’t get enough of it.”

Renly’s nose wrinkled. “I always heard lobster was fit only for the smallest of smallfolk. Though during the siege, we would have eaten it gladly.”

“Lots of people look down on lobster, but House Targaryen has ruled Dragonstone for over four hundred years, and we know how noble the humble creature truly be.” He frowned. “Answer me. What did the kitten taste like?”

“Like pork, I think.”

“Cat tastes like pig?”

“It wasn’t very good.”

“And the dog?”

“It tasted sort of like mutton, but it felt like beef in my mouth. It was pretty good, actually.”

Viserys was fascinated. “How about the hawk?”

“Gamey. Tough. My jaws got tired of chewing.”

“Maybe some gravy would have helped.”

“If we’d still had gravy, we probably wouldn’t have been ready to eat the dogs,” Renly said. “Though dog could have used some gravy too.”

“Pony probably tasted like horse. I’ve had horse meat a few times before. It’s not really good, but it will let you keep going, my brother Rhaegar told me.”

“I heard the same thing from Robert and Stannis.”

Viserys frowned. “You shouldn’t talk about them. They’re traitors. I don’t like hearing about traitors.”

Renly swallowed hard. “I apologize, my lord prince. I- I- I apologize.”

“I forgive you, Renly.” Viserys looked around. “Shall we continue? I want to explore my new castle some more.”


	10. Rhaegar IV

Rhaegar climbed the stairs to the nursery. Lyanna sat by the window, nursing Jon. As he stood watching them, he felt filled with purpose. He had no more lingering doubts. A move against his father was for their future, for the future of all his children. 

"What is Father thinking, I wonder?" Lyanna said to Jon. "He stands there like a statue. How odd of him."

Rhaegar blinked. "Struck dumb by your beauty, my lady," he said. He came over and kissed her.

"Ah," Lyanna said. "Father flatters us."

Jon gave a sleepy smile. 

"I mean to memorize everything I can about you before you leave," he said.

"Leave?" Lyanna looked up. "Where are we going?"

"The Eyrie." As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished it weren't so. "You will go as soon as I can manage it."

"Are you through with me so soon?" she asked coolly. 

"Of course not!" He tried to keep the edge from his voice. _Doesn't she know she must be where it is safe?_ "But you must go. I mean to send you and Jon there, Elia and the children to Dragonstone, and then... " He trailed off. _If I say it, I make it so._ "And then I will secure a safe future for all of us."

Lyanna studied him. "You mean this." 

"I do, aye. When you return, I will be king."

"If you still have your head." 

"I will endeavor to keep it firmly attached." 

Lyanna smiled at his jest, but it did not reach her eyes. 

_Soon_ , he thought, as he stroked Jon's downy head. _It will all be sorted soon._

Lysa Tully came into the nursery. “Good morning, my prince,” she said breathily.

“My lady,” he replied politely.

Lysa and her sister Catelyn had entered Lyanna’s service as ladies in waiting. They were wards of the crown and would do whatever the crown decided, but King Aerys had shown no particular inclination to dispose of them. If not for Rhaegar’s intervention, they would probably be confined to their rooms somewhere in the Red Keep. 

_Stark and Tully together again._ Rhaegar had watched his father closely, looking for some crack, some hint that his paranoia had been aroused, but there was none. _Perhaps he thinks them harmless because they are only women._

“Pack your things and make ready for the journey,” Rhaegar said to Lyanna. “The Vale of Arryn is nearly as far as you already traveled to get to King’s Landing.”

“At least I will not be pregnant this time.”

“No, but travel with an infant will not be easy.”

“Will it still be called the Vale of Arryn?” Lysa asked irreverently. “The Arryns have been deposed and almost wiped out, after all.”

“Have a care, my lady,” Rhaegar cautioned. “It is not meet to speak so callously of the dead.”

“I’m technically Jon Arryn’s widow,” Lysa pointed out, “and am legally the one stripped of lands and title. I think I will speak of that old lecher any way I wish. There will be no more Arryns. Will that kingdom now be known as the Vale of Targaryens? Dragonvale?”

“I had not given it consideration,” Rhaegar said thoughtfully. “Tis commonly known simply as ‘The Vale’.”

“Dragonvale sounds better,” Lyanna noted. “It goes with Dragonstone.”

“Perfect,” Lysa said, clapping her hands. “Oh, this is funny, isn’t it? No matter who won, I still wind up going to the Vale. I still get to live in the Eyrie. The gods truly do work in mysterious ways.”

Jon began to fuss, and Lyanna’s hands went to the front of her dress. “Again? Child, I may have to give you to Wylla. I don’t think I’ve recovered from last time.”

Rhaegar excused himself to see to his duties. He was enthralled by his son and could spend hours watching him -- if he let himself. There was always duty, and he had put off one task for too long already.

He pondered Lysa’s destiny as he walked, trying to distract himself. _Is she fated to be in that place at this time? Will something foreordained happen there? If her path can be chosen, then others can as well. Perhaps mine. What is it that I am meant to do?_

All of this weighed on him as he made his way into Maegor's Holdfast. He found his mother and Elia in the queen's solar, with the children.

"Father!" Rhaenys ran toward him and he scooped her up. "I've missed you!" 

"I missed you, too." He hugged her tight. He had been too long away, building his future with Lyanna. It gave him no right to forget his first family, his firstborn children.

"Son." His mother rose and embraced him once he had set Rhaenys down. "You have been back in the city for weeks and yet I have not seen you."

He kissed her. "I've had matters to attend to."

"You've had the Stark girl to attend to," Elia said, not looking up from her sewing. 

"Elia," his mother said.

"No." Rhaegar shook his head. "She's right. I was distracted." He came over to where Aegon sat, playing at Elia's feet, and picked him up. He was getting big, had passed his first nameday while Rhaegar was away. _I will never leave them again,_ he vowed. _I will find a way to make this work._

"But he has a splendid excuse," Elia continued. "A new son." 

He winced. _Of course she thinks that because she could give me no more children I sought one elsewhere._ "We both know what those early weeks are like," he said, trying to keep the conversation mild, while Rhaenys stood, listening curiously. "Jon has slept ill."

"Are you going out again, Father?" Rhaenys asked, a hint of worry in her voice, as she hovered at his knee.

"No," he said, hoping he would be able to keep this promise. 

"Let's give Mother and Father a chance to talk, sweetling," his mother said, taking Rhaenys by the hand. "They have not seen each other in a long time." When she reached out to take Aegon from him, Rhaegar noticed the bruises on her wrists. He tried to catch her eye, but she looked away.

As soon as the door was shut, Rhaegar turned to his wife. "Elia, I am so sorry. I can't tell you how much."

She raised an eyebrow. "You can't?" 

He held in his sigh. "I mean it. I told you of the prophecy when Aegon was born." 

"Yes, and you had been pursuing the Wolf Girl long before that."

Rhaegar hung his head. "I had hoped to spare you another pregnancy after Aegon. You bore me an heir, and that was more than enough." 

"And the way to do that was not to sneak off with that Stark girl! You could have told me!" 

"I could not have told anyone! If word got out to anyone else, my father could have learned of it. I do not trust him, Elia. Do you?"

"And you did not trust me?" 

"I should have told you," he admitted. "I realize my error. I am meant to have three children. The union of Stark and Targaryen was what was meant by the song of ice and fire."

"Pretty words may have swayed Lyanna Stark, but they will not sway me."

He pushed himself from his chair and dropped to his knees in front of her. "Elia, I love you." 

Her eyes were cold. "Until the next one comes along and you revise your prophecy? Perhaps I will comfort Lady Lyanna then."

"What I feel for Lyanna in no way changes the love I have for you. I am sorry that I have hurt you. I am sorry. I will say the words for the rest of my days if I must."

"Words are wind, Rhaegar. You concealed her from me, left our children.”

"I have wronged you, Elia, but you are still my wife, and you will be my queen. You will hold the title and you have borne my heir. I would stop hurting you. Please just tell me how."

Her eyes flashed with true emotion. "Why do you need more than us? Am I not enough for you, Rhaegar? Is not Rhaenys enough? What do you think this Jon will do that our Aegon cannot?" 

He sighed. "I know not yet. Only that it must be. It is said that the dragon must have three heads, so there must be three of them. If I said this to you, would you agree to give me another child? We both know the maesters advised against it. I cannot ask this of you. I do not wish you to die. I would not lose you." 

"A prophecy can be whatever you want it to mean, Rhaegar. Did you not say you thought it meant you before Aegon, and then Aegon before Jon?"

"You are right that I cannot be sure." He took her hands, and, luckily, she did not pull away. "But all the stories point to _something_ coming. Would it not be better to have two brothers to face it side-by-side?"

"We will see. I thought your Jon was to go to the Eyrie." 

_Does she mean that they cannot be brothers?_ He bit back his instinctive reply. "You are right. You will have to trouble yourself with them little longer."

_With Lyanna and Jon in the Eyrie… Elia and the children on Dragonstone if I can manage it… perhaps then it will be time._

Elia looked down at her embroidery. It seemed his audience with her was over. "I do hope you will stay, though. Rhaenys is old enough to notice, I am afraid."

"I will explain it all to her." _When I have the words._

He excused himself and went to the nursery, where his mother was seeing Rhaenys and Aegon put down for their naps. He found her looking out the window, a fond, distant sort of expression on her face.

"Mother?" he said softly, not wishing to startle her.

She turned. "Oh, Rhaegar. I am so glad you're home, truly." She brushed her hand over his cheek. "I was just thinking about when you were small. And Viserys."

"Viserys is still small." 

"Aye, but he is leaving me. Your father has given him his own seat. Storm’s End. What a forbidding sounding place." 

Rhaegar watched her. She seemed frailer than she had before he had left the city for the Trident. _He has hurt her_ , he thought, though he knew his father had done just that many times, and the bruises were visible to anyone. 

"You have Aegon and Rhaenys," he reminded her. "And I will have Lyanna bring Jon to you one day."

"That would be wonderful, son." She paused, and her hand went to her stomach. "It will help me remember what it is like. I will have a babe of mine own soon enough."

Rhaegar tried not to let his shock show. Given her health and the rarity with which the king touched her, he did not think it possible. "I hope you carry my new sibling in good health."

She smiled. "Would you like a sister, Rhaegar?" She said it in the same tone she had always asked the question during her early pregnancies, the brothers and sisters that she had lost when Rhaegar was small.

He smiled. "I would love a sister, Mother."

Her smile grew sad. "Too late, I fear." 

"Too late for what?"

"Never mind." She squeezed his hand. "I am sure you have important things to do. You have become a fine man, Rhaegar. I am proud of you."

It was good to know someone still was. "Thank you."

"I have always been proud of you. Always glad that you are not… a cruel man." _Like your father_ , he could read in her eyes. Her hand shook slightly in his.

"Viserys is safe at Storm's End," he reminded her. "Far away. And this babe… I will make sure it is safe." 

His mother smiled. "I know you will, Rhaegar. You will be a good king when your time comes."

_It is sooner than you might think_ , he thought grimly. _He looks for enemies without. If only he knew. He has lost me and at least three of the Kingsguard._

Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, and Ser Gerold were firmly Rhaegar's men. Ser Jonothor was firmly his father's, and Rhaegar did not like the look of the newest appointee, Ser Alliser Thorne. _He has nothing to recommend him, save loyalty and skill at arms, but that is all that matters to Father now._

The rogue factor was Ser Jaime. He was young, the son of Father's former Hand. Father had kept him close, but Rhaegar had granted his impassioned pleas to go to the Trident and he had fought valiantly. _I can credit him with my life, at least._ Could he consider approaching the boy? Rhaegar wondered if he resented his appointment to the Kingsguard, as his Father's heir. 

At least with Thorne in Storm's End with Viserys, he would not be a factor when Rhaegar made his move. Viserys would be safe, as well. 

He would not put it past Aerys to use innocents against him. That was why his first step was to ensure the safety of his mother, wife, and children.

He sighed and mentally corrected himself. _Wives._


	11. Lyanna IV

The standard bearer’s staff flew the dragon banner as the party approached the Gates of the Moon, the stout castle that stood at the foot of the Giant’s Lance. The drawbridge was down and the portcullis up as they rode up.

The household was assembled in the courtyard, awaiting their arrival. A massive man with a barrel of a chest and a bald head stood at the front. He wore the arms of House Royce and seemed very nervous.

Lyanna glanced down at Jon in her arms. He was watching her curiously. He had tolerated the long journey well, perhaps better than Lyanna herself had. The carriage finally came to a stop and Lyanna passed Jon to Lysa so she could get out. When she again held him, she was conscious of the stares of the members of the household assembled to greet them. 

The herald announced them. “All hail Jon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonvale, and Warden of the East. His noble mother, Princess Lyanna, of Houses Stark and Targaryen, Lady Regent of Dragonvale.”

 _This is not like being hidden away in King's Landing. I must truly represent Rhaegar here. I must represent our son._ She strode forward, Ser Arthur at her side, hand on the pommel of his sword. His white cloak flapped behind him. 

"Nestor Royce," she said, in a firm, clear voice. "You were named Keeper of the Gates of the Moon by Jon Arryn when he rose in rebellion. Now he lies dead in the waters of the Trident. You have a choice. Kneel to Prince Jon as your liege, take the black, or die. Which fate do you choose?" _Father would be proud of me._

The words seemed to echo in the chill mountain air. Not a single one of the people moved. 

The bald man swallowed nervously. "I speak for all here when I say that we do kneel to Prince Jon." He took a knee and every man, woman, and child in the household followed his lead. "We thank him for his mercy."

"Rise," Lyanna commanded. Some of the chill seemed to leave the air.

"Princess Lyanna, welcome!" A plump, blonde woman came forward, a broad smile on her face that did not reach her tired blue eyes. "I am Alyssa Arryn."

 _Her husband is dead too_ , she realized. _Dead because of me._ There were so many that were; she didn't know when she would stop encountering their survivors. 

Before she'd left, Rhaegar had told her all that she would need to know about the people she would encounter here. Lyanna knew Alyssa was niece to Lord Jon. She had been the heir following the murder of his nephew Elbert Arryn (one of Brandon’s companions) by King Aerys at the start of the war, and she had married a distant cousin so that her son might have the Arryn name. Unfortunately the child had been born female. It mattered not now that the Eyrie was a Targaryen seat.

"We are pleased to be here." The Eyrie itself rose high from the mountains beyond, the road impassible in winter. Lyanna didn't think it looked like it would be terribly passable in the summer, either.

Behind her, Lysa and Catelyn were being helped down from the carriage. Being stuck together in the small space had done little to endear Catelyn to her. The other girl was still quiet, spending all her time hunched over her child, even when he was asleep. She had kept her vow not to let Lyanna near Hoster. She kept sneaking glances at her nephew, trying to see some trace of Ned in him, but from all she could see, like Jon, he strongly resembled his mother.

"Come, come." Alyssa hurried them inside. "It is far too cold out here for the wee ones." 

They followed her into the hall, Ser Arthur close behind. Lyanna wished for Ashara, who had been such a comfort to her since Ned's death. She had returned to her position as lady-in-waiting to Princess Elia. The king was ever suspicious, so she could not leave again so soon without drawing his attention. Rhaegar was not happy about the Tully girls leaving King's Landing, either, but Lyanna had needed companions. She had argued that there was none better to watch her goodsisters. They wouldn’t have any chances for mischief. _And it keeps them out of whatever Rhaegar is planning._

“Princess Lyanna, this is the lord’s room.” This room must have been her own just a few days ago. The heir to the Eyrie was the lord of the Gates of the Moon, much as the crown prince was granted the island of Dragonstone. “I’ll just be a moment to show your ladies their rooms. I’ll be right back.”

Lyanna went to the window. The snowy mountains soaring out of her view let her pretend she was in the North, but it did not relieve all of her homesickness. _At least it is better than Dorne_ , she thought. _Benjen should be with me, too._

He was another Rhaegar had thought should stay behind, and she had reluctantly agreed. To bring Catelyn and Lysa was one thing, to bring Benjen and Edmure would arouse the king's notice. 

Jon was falling asleep in her arms, and she snuggled him close. 

“My princess?” Alyssa had returned.

“Yes?”

“I’ll show you to the nursery now, if it please you.”

“Thank you.”

The nursery was practically across the hall, on the interior. There were no windows, to keep it free from drafts and winds.

“I’ll be back in a moment, my princess. I need to nip down to the kitchens.”

Lyanna laid Jon in the crib and marvelled, as she always did, at his precious face. To think that Rhaegar had planted his seed within her and this new life had grown from it made her weak with wonder. _Whenever I look in his eyes, I know it was all worth it. Oh, Rhaegar! How I miss you. I hope we can see you soon. Jon needs his father. I need you. I have to be strong here, but I miss your arms around me._

The door opened. Lyanna turned, expecting Lady Alyssa, but it was Lysa.

"Do you need anything, my princess?" Lysa asked.

Lyanna smiled at the distraction from her thoughts. "Not at the moment. And, please, Lysa, call me by my name. You are my lady in waiting, not a servant."

Lysa looked down. "If it pleases you, Lyanna."

Lyanna rose and went to take the other girl's hands. "I mean it, truly. I feel that I have no true friends anymore. I am just the girl who ran off with Prince Rhaegar and sent the kingdom to war." Despite herself, she could hear her voice shake. 

Lysa squeezed her hand. “Stop. Just stop. You didn’t do anything. Men go to war for all sorts of reasons. How do you know it wouldn't have happened without you?"

 _Because my betrothed and my brothers rose over my honor._ "But not _this_ war."

"Any war. You cannot blame yourself," Lysa said earnestly. "You did not wish to marry Lord Robert, did you?"

Lyanna had not admitted it to anyone, but it was true, of course. She had heard of his whoring, his bastards, and was unconvinced that he would give those habits up when they finally were wed. Ned had never been convincing in his repeated avowals that Robert was a good man. "No. But I never intended for anyone to die. I only wanted Rhaegar to… to save me." 

"And he did. Lyanna, I know what it's like to be married to a man you cannot love, when you love another. It is an agony I would not wish on anyone." She brushed Lyanna's hair away from her face, a sisterly gesture. Lyanna had always wished for a sister. "At least you avoided that."

Lyanna tried to picture her life with Robert, as Lady of Storm's End. He had claimed to have loved her, but he had done nothing to show it. _Not like Rhaegar. Rhaegar cares about me, not just the idea of me. I wish we could go back to those simple times when it was just he and I._

She sighed. "You are right. Thank you. Those are wise words."

Lysa blushed. "Not so wise, I would think. Just words."

"But they have helped." It was truth. Lyanna could almost feel the weight lifted from her shoulders. _What a wonder that a simple conversation should make me feel like I am released from a cage. Perhaps being here will be good for me. It may not be the North, but it is far from court and the whisperers. I can see why the lords of this place had a falcon for their sigil. Up here, you can feel as free as one._

Lyanna left Jon in Wylla’s care, and she and Lysa left the nursery. Ser Arthur was on duty at the door. There were six other knights in the Prince’s Guard who would stand their post in pairs. She had come to know them during the trip. They were good and loyal men from Dorne. _I only hope the climate is kind to them._

“Where is Catelyn?”

“She is resting in her room. She claims to be fatigued by the journey. Baby Hoster is with her.”

“She should let Wylla care for him.”

“She should,” Lysa agreed. “I have a very nice room. Thank you.”

“I really didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“But you told them we are your ladies in waiting. They treat us well.”

“You expected to be flung in the dungeons?”

“Would you really do that to me after all this way?” Lysa said with amusement. “Though I am sure it would confirm the worst of Cat’s fears. She’s heard stories about the Eyrie and the Moon Door, and I think she thinks you mean to throw her out of it.”

“How very elaborate. I’m of the North. If I wanted her dead, she’d be dead.”

“I don’t think she realizes that.”

In the hall, Lady Alyssa had ordered a feast prepared. Lyanna would rather that no one went to any trouble. There was no sense in an extravagant feast on her account.

_But it is for Prince Jon Targaryen. Extravagant is rather what Targaryens do. Oh Rhaegar, I need you. I am not cut out for this. I don’t want to do it alone._

Ser Nestor bowed to her as she entered the hall.

“Princess Lyanna Targaryen, I would like to introduce my lady wife Alys.”

“Princess,” said a plain-faced, brown-haired woman.

_She will never be beautiful, so she does not try. Thus she appears less than she is capable. How interesting._

“My son Albar and my daughter Myranda.”

“Hello, Princess,” they murmured together. The boy was not older than five, and the girl could not have been more than two.

“Hello, children.”

“Shall we?” Ser Nestor invited.

“Yes.” Lyanna strode toward the high table and sat without hesitation in the lord’s seat. _Like it or not, I rule the Vale now. At least for the next sixteen years._

Lysa and two of the Prince’s Guard sat to her left. Lady Arryn and the Royces were on her right. 

The feast was, thankfully, not too garish. There were seven courses to honor the gods. They even brought in a septon to say a prayer. Lyanna bowed her head respectfully as the food grew cold.

They were groaning from the fifth course when Lyanna felt the need for some cool air. The hall had grown stiflingly warm -- or was that just the wine she’d had? She hadn’t tasted a drop since learning of her pregnancy, and what little tolerance she had was demolished. She had abstained while in King’s Landing, feeling the need to be on her guard at all times. Now she felt slightly more secure behind the Bloody Gate, and this fortress seemed to be mighty, but only once Jon was up in the Eyrie would she feel a measure of safety.

“Ser Nestor, I would speak with you.”

“Of course, my princess.”

 _I must get used to that. It would not do to encourage familiarity, not from him._

They stepped out onto the balcony. There were lights in many windows, and the fortress seemed festive.

"This is a magnificent castle," she said. "I have heard it is even larger than the Eyrie itself. I look forward to seeing my son's seat proper."

"You have heard true, my lady, but Prince Jon will not see the Eyrie for a while yet, I should think. The maesters know not when spring will come, and it is not an ascent one would want to attempt with a babe. Even with the basket, it is a brutal climb."

She was silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts. He continued, filling the silence with his words.

“If I am not being too forward, my princess, allow me to express my thanks to the Seven that they have sent us a Stark. I hope that the friendship between our houses remains strong.”

“I don’t take your meaning, ser.”

“Your noble brother, Ser Brandon, did you know his companions well?”

“More than a passing familiarity, aye.”

“Did you know Ser Kyle Royce?”

 _Ah, so that is our connection._ She inclined her head briefly. “I did know him, ser, though not well.”

“He was my younger brother, executed at the order of King Aerys.”

“He rode with my brother to King’s Landing and called on the crown prince to die.”

“I do not argue the justice of his death, merely state the fact, my princess,” Ser Nestor said quickly.

She did not respond immediately, letting him stand there nervously. At last she said, “Ser Nestor, let me speak plainly with you.”

“I am a simple man, my princess.”

“Your noble brother and eldest nephew are dead. Your second nephew Robar is a boy of seven. He will need someone to manage the castle affairs and teach him as he grows. If you can teach him not to make rebellion, then that someone could be you.”

She had definitely surprised him. “You would allow Runestone to remain in our family?”

“The king at first said that every Royce was to be executed.”

Ser Nestor paled. “Every? My children?”

“All,” Lyanna said, her voice as cold as the North. “Prince Rhaegar persuaded him to spare the children.”

“Thank the Seven!”

“Thank Prince Rhaegar, ser. King Aerys called for your head. My husband persuaded him that the war was over and it was time to accept fealty.”

“All my thanks to Prince Rhaegar,” Ser Nestor gushed. “He is most merciful. I will gladly accept guardianship of my brother’s children. I will teach them to revere Prince Rhaegar and all Targaryens.”

“Good,” she said with satisfaction. “Would you care to go in now? I believe they’ve served dessert.”

After the feast, Lyanna excused herself to the nursery. She trusted Wylla, of course, but she would not feel right until she had lain eyes on her son.

Jon was awake in his crib, looking at everything around him. Lyanna picked him up. That was when she heard a soft sobbing. She looked up.

Catelyn sat in a rocking chair by the fire, holding Hoster. Lyanna tried to remember when she'd left the table. She hadn't noticed her presence yet, and Lyanna watched her for a moment, feeling the waves of despair radiating off her. _This could have been me_ , she thought. _"Rescued" and forced to marry Robert… what would have become of Jon? I am sure I would weep, too, no doubt._

"Catelyn?" she asked softly.

Catelyn's head jerked up and she reflexively drew Hoster to her breast. "What do you want?" 

Lyanna adjusted Jon casually in her arms. "I came to see my son, the same as you. Why do you weep?"

"You know the reason." Tears still stood out on the girl's cheeks, but her blue eyes were alight with fury. "You are the reason." 

Of course she'd been expecting that answer. "I know," she said softly. She looked down at Jon, caressing his face. "You have lost Ned, but you barely knew him. I loved him too. I had known him all my life. He was dearest to me, of all my brothers, if I am honest. I cannot believe he is gone. You should be Lady of Winterfell and bear him many children, and I would love them all."

"But that did not happen," Catelyn murmured. "He is dead, and the only child I will bear is this disinherited son."

"We could make you another match."

“I don't _want_ another match. I was to have Brandon, and then I had Ned for a handful of nights, and now both are gone. My father and husband were traitors to the Crown. No man will have me except for pity or punishment."

The words hit Lyanna like a brisk, cold wind, but they were true. Catelyn and her siblings were wards of the Mad King, his to do with as he pleased. There was real danger of Lysa and Catelyn being married to men who would not have been worthy of the daughters of the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.

"I will not let that happen." 

"And what power do you have?"

"My husband will not let it happen." She had compassion for Catelyn, truly, but she had never been very patient. _Can't she see we are keeping her safe?_ "Why do you think we brought you here?"

"To keep us under your thumb."

"No." _What kind of monster does she think I am?_ "Rhaegar means to keep you out of his father's power. He is unstable. Rhaegar fought for his father because he fought for himself, but…" She stopped. _Dare I say more? I know not what he plans._ She took a deep breath. "But do know that he is not his father. There is no madness about him."

"So you say."

"He will not burn you, or give you away to some feeble old fool!" Lyanna said hotly. "He is a good man, who cares about the future of the realm."

"So was Robert. It was why he rose!"

Lyanna could contain her temper no more. "Robert was a whoring drunkard who cared only that he couldn’t have the. . . the _thing_ he wanted. The king changes his mind the way other men change their clothes! Had we stayed behind, he could decide that you and your sister could not be safely left alive. He could order your son killed."

"So you have left my brother behind to burn?"

"And my brother as well." Lyanna lifted her chin. "I could take only the two of you without arousing his suspicions. Had he figured out what we meant to do, he might have burned us all."

Catelyn paled. "He said we were his wards."

"Aye, and a man can do as he wishes with wards. A madman will."

Hoster began to try cry in his mother's arms. Lyanna fell silent, a guilty feeling creeping upon her. Catelyn turned away, her attention on the babe.

She turned away in silence, laying Jon back in the crib. Apologies did not come easy for her either, but she knew she had to say something. She had spoken the truth, but it had been in anger. 

She turned back to Catelyn and saw her standing there. "You are right." Her eyes were downcast. "I do not like it." Her voice shook. "I am not happy."

"Why should you be?" 

Catelyn nodded. "I am not happy," she repeated. "But I am glad to be here, if it keeps us away from the king." 

"I know you worry about Edmure, as much as I worry about Benjen, but I trust Rhaegar. He will keep them safe."

"I must trust you. I have no other choice." 

Lyanna closed her eyes. It was an improvement. She could not hope for more.

Hoster still fussed in Catelyn's arms. "Would you like to hold him, my princess?" she asked in a quiet voice.

Lyanna froze. She could not seem too eager. She could not betray how much this meant to her, to hold Ned's son. "I would be honored."

Catelyn handed him over and Hoster regarded her with solemn blue eyes. 

"This is your Aunt Lyanna," Catelyn said. "Your father's sister."

Lyanna blinked back tears. He did not look like Ned on the surface, but she could see him in there. "He is beautiful," she told Catelyn. _No harm will come to him_ , she vowed. _He will not be forced into taking the black, if I have to fight the Mad King myself. Rhaegar, please do whatever you are going to do soon._


	12. Viserys IV

Having his own castle was a lot of fun. Added to the fun he already had of being a royal prince, Viserys was eminently pleased with his new paradigm. He got to sit in the best chair in the great hall, and he was always served first. He didn’t have to wait until his father and mother were served. The choicest bits on the platters were now all for him.

The servants had finally gotten his room the way he wanted it. Now all of his clothes were hung up in the wardrobe, all of his toys were neatly put away, and his books tucked away onto the shelves. Several of his new banners decorated the walls, and he loved seeing his golden dragon every morning when he rose and each night as he slept.

Being the prince meant that he also got to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. If he wanted to study with the maester, he did so. If he wanted to play with Renly, he did so. He had decided that it was time to begin their lessons at arms with Ser Alliser, like Rhaegar had promised.

Renly was bouncing with excitement all through breakfast. “I’ve wanted to learn arms for months.”

"I had already begun to learn with Ser Willem Darry before I came here," Viserys said smugly.

"Finish your breakfast, Renly," Maester Cressen reminded Renly. "We must be thankful for the food Prince Viserys has brought us."

"Thank you, my lord prince," Renly said. He ate a few more bites. 

Viserys couldn't finish his breakfast either. "It is the responsibility of a prince to feed his people," he said. 

The Reachlords had departed a few days ago. Viserys was glad to see the back of them. Oh, they had done their sworn duty, but the lords and most of the knights seemed puffed up with their own importance. Mace Tyrell was the worst of the lot. At least Randyl Tarly had won battles. From what Viserys could tell, Lord Tyrell had spent the war feasting in sight of the walls of Storm’s End.

Renly had confessed to being angry at Lord Tarly. “When they took the castle, he was cruel. He dragged me around and laughed at me. I got so mad I hit him. He was going to cut off my hand for that offense, but my brother Stannis offered himself in my place.”

“That is noble,” Viserys said. “You should not have struck Lord Tarly, though. He is a good king’s man.”

Renly swallowed. “Yes, my lord prince.”

A horn blew, interrupting any further conversation. “Riders approaching!” came the word. Viserys jumped up and ran out to the courtyard.

“What sigils do you see?” he called up to the men on the wall.

“Per pale argent and sable, two swans combatant counterchanged, beaked and membered or.”

“House Swann,” Maester Cressen noted, coming up to stand behind Viserys.

“Ho, the castle! I bear royal orders.”

“I see a dragon banner, my lord prince.”

“Open the gate,” Viserys ordered.

A tall, blond man came through the gate with a dozen soldiers. He dismounted his chestnut horse and took a knee before Viserys. 

“My lord prince, I am Ser Cyrian Swann. I have come forthwith by royal command to offer my service to you.” He presented a scroll, still sealed with the three-headed dragon.

“Maester Cressen?” Viserys said.

“Prince Rhaegar did send word, my lord prince,” Maester Cressen gently reminded. He broke the seal and quickly read the contents. “This appears to be in order. By your brother’s command, Ser Cyrian is the new castellan of Storm’s End.” 

"Welcome, Ser Cyrian," Viserys said. "I am pleased to have you as my castellan. It is nice to know that some stormlands houses remained loyal to the crown." 

"My lord prince, may I present to you my niece, Lady Jeyne Swann?" Ser Cyrian introduced a pretty girl of seventeen with sandy hair and green eyes. 

She curtseyed. "It is an honor, my lord prince." 

Viserys said, "This is Renly. My ward." 

Renly smiled and said, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Ser Cyrian. Lady Jeyne." 

"Ah yes," Ser Cyrian said. "Is he your only companion, my lord prince? You should have more." 

They were walking toward the castle now. Renly followed. 

"Renly is a fine companion," Viserys said. "I don't need any other." 

"Naturally, my lord prince, but your lords bannermen are eager to send their sons to be your friends. These will be the men you ride beside one day. You must know them well." 

“Maester Cressen will show you and your niece to your rooms. I must ask you to excuse me now. We are due for our first lesson at arms with Ser Alliser.”

“We understand, of course,” Ser Cyrian said with a bow. “I will be some time settling in. We shall speak again at the noon meal.”

“Very good, ser.”

Renly and Viserys went out into the training yard. Ser Alliser was already there, with a pair of wooden swords and some padding. Viserys went to put it on. Renly watched him and then copied him. Renly bent to pick up his sword, lost his balance, and fell over.

"It seems we must wait, my lord prince," Ser Alliser said, "while the little fawn finds his feet."

Renly pushed himself up, snagging his sword on his way. "I'm not a fawn," he said. "I'm a stag."

"And what is a stag before it's grown?"

Renly lifted his chin. "A buck." 

"A fawn." 

Renly scowled fiercely.

Once Renly had his feet, he and Viserys gathered around Ser Alliser. He drew his sword.

“This is a sword. This is the blade. Don’t touch it, because it’s sharp. You’ll cut yourself. We won’t be using live steel yet.” He looked disparagingly at Renly. “Perhaps not for a long time. But there is plenty of it around, and you’d best be careful. If I hear that the maester has to treat you for cuts, there’ll be trouble.”

Viserys had never cut himself with any of the live steel he’d handled, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“The part that is not the blade is the hilt. This is the crossguard. When you cross blades with someone, they can slide their blade down yours and cut at your hand. The crossguard prevents that. This is the grip. This is where you hold the sword. It’s often wrapped in cord or leather to improve the grip. This is the pommel. It balances the weight of the blade. If you didn’t have this, you’d never be able to hold a sword or swing it or control it.”

Renly shifted from one foot to the other during this little lecture. He sighed.

Ser Alliser's eyes snapped to him. "Am I boring you?"

“No, Ser Alliser,” Renly said sheepishly, “but I already know about the parts of a sword.”

“Oh you do, do you? Well, since you know so much, perhaps you would like to give the lesson. My lord prince, let us pay heed to the words and wisdom of Ser Fawn the Graceful."

Renly looked down, ears burning.

“Continue, Ser Alliser,” Viserys commanded.

“Yes, my lord prince. All the parts of the sword are important. They all serve a purpose. They come together to form a tool that is greater than the sum of its parts. It is a thing of beauty.”

The man waxed near-poetic. 

At last Ser Alliser declared that it was time to pick up the practice swords. Viserys had been listening intently, while his hands absently stroked the contours of the wood. 

"Now," Ser Alliser said. "The first rule of swordsmanship is endurance. If you cannot hold your own against your opponent, all is lost. You will start by holding the sword."

Viserys took up a fighting position. Renly copied him and waited for further instruction from Ser Alliser. None came. 

They stood there for what felt like a long time. At last Renly's arms shook and the sword wobbled. 

"Are you tired, little fawn?" asked Ser Alliser

"No," Renly said sharply.

His shoulders began to tremble. Ser Alliser was circling them, his gaze fixed on Renly.

The swordpoint drooped. Renly’s fingers uncurled and the sword clattered to the ground. His arms flopped at his sides like noodles.

“Pathetic,” Ser Alliser deplored. “Not even five minutes. If you can’t even hold the sword, how do you expect to use it, weakling? You’re useless. Pick it up! Pick my sword off the ground and give it back to me. Be lucky I don’t thrash you with it for wasting my time.”

"Let me try again," Renly ground out. 

“You’ll not try. You’ll _do_. You will practice every day, all day, until you can. Look at Prince Viserys. He hasn’t moved an inch.”

Renly bent and picked the sword back up. He took up the position again. 

When Ser Alliser finally let them go, Renly's knees gave way and he collapsed in the dirt. Viserys went back into the castle. 

In the great hall, servants hurried to bring in food for lunch. Viserys was powerfully hungry and attacked the sliced meat and bread with gusto.

Ser Cyrian arrived with his daughter Jeyne. They sat and said a prayer to the Seven before taking their first bites.

“My lord prince, as I said before, many of your new lords bannermen have sons who are of your age. It is only right and proper that you come to know them and they you.”

“Sons of traitors.”

“They have all bent the knee and been forgiven,” Ser Cyrian said reprovingly. “Look at Renly. His family were traitors, yet you keep him as your companion.”

“Rhaegar told me he wasn’t a traitor.”

“Neither are these boys. They know only what they are taught. Don’t you wish to teach them that the dragon is to be feared but also loved?”

Viserys thought that over.

“Your brother Rhaegar is well-loved, my lord prince,” Maester Cressen added.

“Very well. Invite my lords bannermen to send their sons to me.”

“What about daughters, my lord prince?”

“What about them?” Viserys asked blankly.

“Would you come to know them as well?”

“It is advisable, my lord prince,” Maester Cressen offered.

“Why? Girls aren’t interesting. They like to sew, and embroider, and drink tea. I’ve sat with my mother and her ladies. It’s awful.”

“In time, you may come to feel differently. In any case, you will one day marry and father children. House Targaryen of Storm’s End must prosper.”

Viserys knew that was true, but no boy liked to think about it too deeply. “No girls. Net yet. Lady Jeyne may stay, but no others.”

Maester Cressen bowed. “As you command, my lord prince. I will send the ravens this very night.”

“Thank you, maester,” Ser Cyrian said. “I shall prepare my messages.”

“The girls should still be taught loyalty to the dragon,” Ser Alliser declared. 

“Yes,” Viserys mused. “Rhaegar would want that. Where should they go?”

Ser Cyrian and Maester Cressen looked at each other. “Your goodsister Princess Elia is not in a condition to take further ladies,” Master Cressen reminded.

Viserys wondered what Rhaegar would do. Rhaegar always seemed to know the answer. He imagined his brother, tall and straight in his armor, surrounded by his loyal companions.

That was it. “Which houses loyal to the dragon have daughters?” he asked. 

“Lord Sweet of Sweetwater Sound,” the maester said after a moment’s thought. “Though of the crownlands, they are close to the Stormlands, and in times before the Conquest they paid tribute to Storm’s End. Lord Lynyrd married Lady Druella Bar Emmon ten years ago. They have a daughter of your age. I confess, I do not recall her name. House Sweet is a staunch supporter of the crown.”

“Make the arrangements,” Viserys ordered. “I would see the girls of the Stormlands taught to love and fear the dragon.”

“As you command, my lord prince.”


	13. Rhaegar V

It was early. Few were stirring in the predawn light as Rhaegar walked toward Maegor's Holdfast with Ser Gerold and Lord Aerryk Dayne. On the surface, he was sure they simply appeared to be three friends, returning from an early ride. 

"You must fill the vacancies in the Kingsguard," Ser Gerold was telling him. "We are stretched too thin. Ser Alliser is with Prince Viserys, and Ser Arthur is with Prince Jon. Ser Jonothor and Ser Jaime are with the king, and that is proper, but Ser Oswell protects Queen Rhaella, Princess Elia, Prince Aegon, and Princess Rhaenys by himself.”

Rhaegar nodded. He had arranged for fifty of his own personal guard on Dragonstone to report to Ser Oswell’s command upon their arrival. 

_I pray the Seven it is enough. Let me have chosen rightly._

Ser Jaime was outside the entrance to the holdfast. Rhaegar thought he looked so young, lost in that white cloak.

"Good morning, Ser Jaime," he said pleasantly. "Is my father awake?"

"He is taking his breakfast, my prince. Ser Jonothor is with him."

"Then I shan't disturb him quite yet." Rhaegar paused. "I am glad to have this moment to speak with you. I wanted to commend you again on your valor at the Trident."

Though he tried to conceal it, Rhaegar could tell that the young knight appreciated the praise. "It was nothing, my prince. Only what I am bound to do by my white cloak." 

"False modesty is unbecoming, ser knight. You saved my life. That alone is worthy of recognition." 

Ser Jaime seemed to stand just a bit taller. "I was honored to follow you into battle, my prince."

"Yes." Rhaegar tried to speak as though he was only by coincidence recalling this. "You asked to follow me, rather than remain behind to protect the king. Why did you do so?"

"I know, my prince." He shifted, looking even younger. "I did not feel I was up to the challenge."

"Odd. You chose battle over guarding one man because you were not up to the challenge? You have a low opinion of yourself, ser."

The white knight was silent for a long moment. “Were I to fall in battle, I would not have to wrestle with my conscience as I do.”

Rhaegar wasn’t expecting such an answer. “What troubles you, Ser Jaime?”

“I have seen things, my prince. Things that are not… not… It is not my place to speak.”

Rhaegar studied the young man, barely seventeen years old, barely shaving regularly, who had fought at his side with such valor and skill. He had slain Lord Eddard Stark in combat, with Lord Robert so distraught by the loss that Rhaegar had been able to penetrate his defenses. Were it not for Ser Jaime, Rhaegar knew with cold certainty that he would have died. He had seen it in his dreams.

“You will speak, Ser Jaime. Your prince commands.”

Jaime’s jaw was clenched, and he trembled with the effort of stilling his tongue. His eyes flashed behind Rhaegar to Ser Gerold, his Lord Commander, and back to Rhaegar.

“Ser Jaime, you are a man of honor. I respect that you do not wish to betray the silence of the white cloak. But if you would keep your honor intact, you must tell me what you have seen that is so disquieting for you. You serve the king, but also the royal family and the realm.”

Jaime’s jaw unclenched.

“Tell me, Jaime. What have you seen? Is Rossart practicing the black arts in addition to his pyromancy? Tell me.”

When Jaime spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “I have seen the king behave unkingly.”

Rhaegar waited for him to say more, but the silent moment stretched longer and longer. “What has he done?” _Seven help me, this will confirm my suspicions._

“The queen. He-” Jaime choked. “He took her against her will. Violently. I heard it all. He was no king, no man. He was a wild beast. And Darry, he-” Jaime broke off again, restoring his agonized silence.

_It is worse than I feared. He not only hits her, he rapes her as well? Were I still uncertain of my path, this would decide it for me._ “What about Ser Jonothor?” Rhaegar pressed. “He was there too?”

“He said that we should not protect her!” Jaime burst out. “What sort of knight refuses to defend a woman? What true knight lets rape happen in front of him? Since that day, I have felt tainted. No amount of prayer in the sept or fasting or standing vigil has assuaged my heart. As I listened to Queen Rhaella cry and sob, I wanted to put my sword through _his_ heart! We don’t need that monster as our king! He burns men alive! We need a good man, an honorable man! We need you, my prince.” He clattered to his knees. “I beg of you, Your Grace. You must take action to blunt his madness or the realm will continue to burn.”

Rhaegar was stunned. He had come to Jaime to sound out his feelings and perhaps invite him to join the coup. He had little expected to be implored to start one.

“Rise, Ser Jaime,” he said. “You ask for revolution.”

“No, Your Grace. Just the natural succession.”

“They say one should be careful what one asks for, for one may receive it.” Rhaegar nodded significantly to Ser Gerold.

“Fall in, Ser Jaime,” he said gruffly.

Jaime checked to make sure his sword was clear in the scabbard. He followed as Rhaegar led the way into the holdfast.

The king was having breakfast. He ate only in his bedchamber now, with the pyromancer present. He was with him everywhere these days.

"Ah, son. It has been a long time." Aerys leered at him. "Having too much fun with the wolf bitch?"

Rhaegar resisted going for the dagger he concealed in his sleeve. "You know Lyanna has taken Jon to the seat you so graciously awarded him."

"Ah, yes. Then what is it you have been doing, I wonder?" 

_Exactly what you feared for years._ "Thinking on the realm's future, Father. You have been on this path for years but you have gone too far. I am relieving you of your duties as monarch and assuming the mantle of Prince Regent. You will be confined to the royal apartments until your natural death."

Aerys' face twisted with rage and he threw his breakfast tray aside. "How dare you? I am your king!"

"I dare because I take my role as your heir seriously. I will not let your madness infect the realm any longer. My duty is to protect this kingdom and the people in it, even when I must do so from you."

“Kill that traitor!”

Ser Jonothor drew his sword. "You go too far, my prince."

"You would strike me down, Ser Jonothor?" Rhaegar did not fear for his own safety; he had two Kingsguard knights to his father's one and he and Aerryk both had concealed weapons. "I had heard you did not believe the Kingsguard needed to protect members of the royal family from each other."

Jonothor lunged at Jaime and the young knight's sword was out of his scabbard in an instant. Rhaegar's attention was drawn to them so that he didn't notice the movements of the others in the room until he heard Aerryk's voice ring out.

"Halt!" 

The pyromancer was headed for the door. Aerryk reached for him, but there was a flash of steel and Aerryk dropped to his knees, clutching his wrist. The wound bubbled black and Aerryk cried out. Rossart ran out the door. Ser Gerold looked to Rhaegar for instruction

"Secure the king!" Rhaegar ordered. Ser Gerold hurried to prevent the king from leaving.

Ser Jaime was holding his own against Ser Jonothor. The clang of steel was audible. Aerys struggled in the Ser Gerold's firm grasp.

"This will never stand!" he cried, eyes alight with madness. "You will burn, all of you! Viserys will be my heir. You will never sit the Iron Throne."

There was a clatter as Ser Jaime knocked Ser Jonothor's sword from his hand. "Stand down, ser," he said. Righteous anger danced in his green eyes. 

"Ser Jonothor!" Rhaegar said. "You are under arrest for failing to perform your sworn duty as a knight of the Kingsguard. Ser Jaime has informed me that you failed to protect the queen from an assailant. Just because the assailant was the king does not justify your inactions. Ser Jaime, take him away."

Rhaegar helped Aerryk to his feet.

"I'm all right," he insisted, cradling his arm to his chest. "Tis but a scratch." 

"I don't like the look of it." Rhaegar ripped Aerryk's slashed sleeve open. The wound was still festering, the skin bubbling an unnatural color. "We must go to see Grand Maester Pycelle."

“What of your royal father?”

Rhaegar looked at his sire, he who seemed more beast than man. “Ser Gerold, find a quiet corner of Maegor’s Holdfast where no one goes or has need of going. There, secure my father as comfortably as you can.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Leaving Ser Gerold with the still-raving king, Rhaegar led his friend to the maester's tower. 

"My lord!" Pycelle exclaimed. "What has happened to you?" 

"The pyromancer," Rhaegar explained tersely. Aerryk's face was as pale as his hair, except for the wound on his arm. 

Pycelle tore away the rest of Aerryk's sleeve. "The Hand of the King attacked you, Lord Dayne?"

"As he fled." Rhaegar answered for him, as Aerryk was starting to sweat and did not appear up to speech. "Maester, the king is indisposed. I will assume the Regency until he has recovered his faculties, if he does."

"Indisposed?" Pycelle paused over his collection of salves and potions. "Then I must go to him next."

"I am afraid what ails him is beyond your healing powers." Rhaegar looked out the window. The world of the Red Keep was continuing on as normal. Somewhere out there was Rossart and he would need to be caught and dealt with. "His madness has gone too far."

"I fear you are right, Your Grace." Pycelle examined Aerryk's arm. "I do not wish to speak out of turn, but I have had my concerns since the death of Lord Stark. In the history of the seven kingdoms, there has been no one poorer qualified to be Hand than Wisdom Rossart. I hope you will appoint someone else in your capacity as Regent."

"I will have to. Even if he had done nothing else to distinguish him, attacking Lord Aerryk is unconscionable." 

Aerryk's breath was coming in short gasps as Pycelle examined his arm. "It appears his blade was poisoned," Pycelle said. "I can only hope I have a suitable antidote."

_You are like to_ , Rhaegar thought as he watched the maester go through his neat rows of bottles. _You have quite the collection of poisons yourself._

Rhaegar watched as Pycelle forced a blue liquid down Aerryk's throat. His body shuddered and then lay still, though Rhaegar could still tell from the rise and fall of his chest that he lived. Pycelle watched him for a few moments before speaking.

"I think you have brought him here in time, Your Grace. The antidote should take effect shortly, but Lord Aeryk must rest."

"Thank you, maester." Rhaegar felt some of the weight rise from his shoulders. He had come close to losing a friend in this endeavor. It was all his father's fault. Rossart would be caught and brought to justice. 

"Is there anything else I can help with, Your Grace?" Pycelle had come to stand beside him. In his eyes, Rhaegar saw only loyalty. It was good to have such an advisor on his side. How many others at court had known the truth about the king's madness and held their tongues? Rhaegar would have to assure those around him that they could speak their minds when he sat the throne. 

"I am sure I will seek your counsel in the future," he said. "I will need men I can trust in the coming days."

"I am sure you will, Your Grace. I trust your judgment in all things." 

"And I yours, maester." They left Aerryk sleeping peacefully and Pycelle led Rhaegar from the sickroom. "I would know who on the small council you think can be trusted."

"The king, as I am sure you have noticed, has in recent years, surrounded himself with men who will neither notice nor stop his actions. The pyromancer, for example. The eunuch."

"You would not trust Lord Varys?"

"I would not trust a man who appeared from across the Narrow Sea and offered his services to the king unsolicited. The king keeps him close and I think you know what that means, Your Grace."

Rhaegar rubbed the bridge of his nose. He would have to seat an entirely new small council, perhaps. No old loyalties could be allowed to contaminate the new regime. "Do you have any suggestions of how to fill these spaces, maester?"

"I would first reconsider those the king dismissed. Is it not said sometimes that the enemy of the enemy is my friend? While not your enemy, of course, Your Grace, the logic still holds that anyone a mad man dismisses was probably offering quite wise counsel." 

_Lord Tywin. Of course._ The king had dismissed him because he had believed him to be plotting against him. Years of loyalty had been discounted because of his father's unfounded fears. His own son was a loyal Kingsguard. Perhaps he would be amenable to helping Rhaegar. 

_Do I name him Hand? Or do I save that office for another?_

He knew not where his good and dear friend Jon Connington was. How could he summon him back if he couldn't find him?

Perhaps there would still be a use for Varys and his little birds. 

"True words, maester. I am sure I will meet with several lords while they are still in the city." 

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Your Grace?" 

"Go to the king. Ensure that he is in good physical condition. I will tell the court that he has needed to step aside for his own health. I must have your firm support, maester. I will need you to be able to answer any questions about what ails him."

"Of course, Your Grace."


	14. Lyanna V

_From Gerold Grafton, Lord of Gulltown, to Princess Lyanna Stark, Lady Regent of the Vale, and Jon Targaryen, Prince of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East, most joyous greetings._

_Princess, our language lacks the words to express my joy in knowing that my traitorous lord’s rebellion has been quelled. House Grafton has always been loyal to the dragon. For our loyalty, my brother was slain and I was imprisoned in my own dungeon. I have only been a free man for a moon’s turn, but I am quickly putting things back to rights._

_As soon as I send the raven with this letter, I shall depart for the Gates of the Moon. I would present myself before you and make my oath of fealty. You shall have no more fervent supporter than I._

_With most adoring respect,_

_Gerold_

Lyanna showed the letter to Ser Arthur. “What do you think, ser?”

He scanned it briefly. “Good tidings. At least one house of the Vale is happy to see us.”

“It is genuine then?” Her voice contained too much hope.

“It is a matter of fact that Lord Arryn did not have the complete support of his bannermen. None of them did except Lord Stark.”

Lyanna knew that well. “Only because King Aerys actually killed my father. The North does not take such a thing lightly. And it will remember. It will remember Brandon and Ned as well.”

“Best not to say such things, my princess,” Ser Arthur cautioned. “Winterfell passes to Benjen, and he would be wise to make sure the North does forget.”

“Domeric Bolton as well,” she murmured. _I wonder how many child lords there are now. Benjen, I hope you are safe. Are you and Domeric and Edmure having fun together? Are you allowed?_

“You asked about Lord Grafton’s letter,” he reminded her. “There is no reason not to believe it. I have heard accounts of the battle for Gulltown, and House Grafton made a noble stand. In my opinion, you should receive him warmly. You will need to start making connections with the lords of the Vale, and he seems a willing ally.”

“Rhaegar told me what to expect here at the Gates of the Moon, but he didn’t tell me about the Vale lords. All I know is what I remember of Maester Walys’ lessons, and I’m afraid I was never the best student.”

“Nor I,” he confessed. “I hear that Lyn Corbray won his knighthood at Gulltown but was captured and made to join Lord Arryn. He fought with distinction, taking command when his father was mortally injured and slaying Prince Lewyn Martell, but surrendered honorably once Lord Arryn was killed. He pledged his fealty to King Aerys and was confirmed as Lord Corbray. He should be returning to the Vale soon.”

“Another strong ally. That’s two. How many of them will hate me?”

“Many, to be sure. But they will not rise against you. Prince Rhaegar will crush them.”

“What of Ser Nestor? Has he truly repented of his family’s treason?”

“Only time can tell for certain. If he has, then he will be another useful ally.”

Lyanna decided that she would receive Lord Grafton -- and many more. “I will invite all of the lords of Dragonvale to come and offer their fealty. I would look them in the eye and take their measure.”

“A wise idea, my princess.”

Lyanna immediately called together the household. Cat and Lysa were present as her handmaidens. Alyssa had not yet been named one as well, though Lyanna was sure it would happen. The transition was nearly finished, and Alyssa’s purpose nearly at an end. She would need a new mission once Lyanna had learned how the castle currently operated.

_I have things I wish to change, but it can happen by and by. Better that I understand it before I change it._

Ser Arthur was present. Two of the Prince’s Guard were on duty at the nursery. Ser Martyn Whent, the garrison commander, was also present.

“I am summoning my bannermen to attend me,” she announced. “They are commanded to present themselves and their families before me and offer Prince Jon their fealty. When can we be ready to receive them?”

The discussion lasted long into the evening, and the ravens were sent the next morning. In addition to their persons, they were also commanded to bring food, wine, and supplies, as well as any gold demanded by the crown.

The preparations for hosting all of her lords required most of her attention, but Lyanna was pleased to receive a raven from Rhaegar. He spent an entire page waxing eloquent about how much he loved her and missed her. It made her heart melt and her loins ache.

One by one over the next weeks, each lord or lady arrived with their retinues. Upon arrival, each was escorted to the great hall.

First to arrive was Lord Gerold, who was as affable in person as in his correspondence. He was of medium build, in his early twenties, with close cropped brown hair and a perfectly ordinary face. He had a look of adoration in his eyes that, though he tried to conceal it, made Lyanna inwardly groan. She did not need a romantic complication.

“My lord, I thank you for your kind letter. Your offer to present yourself and pledge fealty prompted me to summon all the lords of Dragonvale for the same purpose.”

He laughed greatly. “I am pleased to be a humble seed in the garden of your imagination. I look forward to seeing the lot of them taken down a few pegs. I cannot imagine what they were thinking to rise up in rebellion.”

“Men do all manner of irrational things, my lord.”

“Well spoken, my princess. I travelled with Daemon and Uther Shett. I imagine they’re waiting out in the hall for me to finish so they can be announced.”

“Let us not keep them waiting long,” Lyanna said with amusement. “Lysa, please show Lord Gerold to his rooms.”

“Yes, my princess.” Lysa beckoned to the man. “This way, my lord.”

Ser Daemon and Ser Uther were indeed waiting outside, and Lyanna was heartened to see more smiling faces.

Lord Lyn Corbray arrived next, with his younger brother Lucas. They approached and went to a knee. “Princess Lyanna,” Lyn said effusively.

“My lord,” she said warmly. “Rise and be welcome.”

“Thank you, my princess.”

“You have had an interesting time of it, haven’t you?”

He laughed richly. “I have! Truly the gods are fickle, or so it seems to us mortals who cannot see beyond the moment.”

“You speak truth, my lord. I did not take you for a religious man.”

“When one has been in battle, one finds one’s faith.”

“Was your journey tiring, my lord? I have had a suite of rooms prepared for you.”

“Thank you, my princess. I would most enjoy the chance to clean off the dust of the road.”

“Alyssa, show the Corbrays to their rooms, please.”

“At once, my princess.”

Eventually they had visitors from nearly all of the holdings of the Vale. There were not many lords left to arrive. Lyanna hadn’t even heard of some of these places.

“Lord Mordyn Baelish of the Fingers,” announced the herald, “his lady wife Alayne and his son Petyr.”

Lysa stiffened. “Petyr?” she whispered.

Lyanna heard something in her voice. “Is that your love?” she said under her breath.

“It is. Oh, Lyanna! See how the gods smile on me? First they free me from a marriage to a wrinkled, old man, then they send me a new friend who has become incredibly dear to me, and now they see fit to send my true love back to me. Is this not a glorious day?”

Lyanna was not so sure these tidings were joyous.

Lord Mordyn took a knee at the foot of the dais. “Princess Lyanna, I pledge my life and loyalty to House Targaryen of the Eyrie.”

“Arise, Lord Mordyn.”

“My princess, how may I serve?”

Lyanna knew nothing about this small lord. “My lord, did you take up arms during Robert’s Rebellion?”

“I did fight for Lord Arryn at Gulltown,” he admitted.

“Tell me the story,” Lyanna invited.

“There isn’t much to tell, my princess,” Lord Mordyn said deprecatingly. “I received a raven summoning me and all my strength to the Gates of the Moon. Well, my strength consisted of a dozen men-at-arms drafted from my few villages. I barely have a tower, awarded my lord father for great deeds. I had had no opportunities for my own great deeds until the call to battle came. I gave my men what training I could on our journey. We fought on the left flank under Lord Loras Corbray. Half of my men were killed, but I managed to save the others. I took three serious wounds before I could not continue fighting. I yielded to Ser Hubert Hardyng. After the fighting was over, I was released. I took my surviving men home, continued my convalescence with the help of my son Petyr, and here we are.”

“That is a remarkable tale, my lord,” Lyanna marvelled. “To my mind, you have committed no treason against the Iron Throne. If you did not fight beyond the borders of the Vale, then I regard such martial activity as an internal matter under the jurisdiction of the Lord Paramount.”

Lord Mordyn bowed. “You are most understanding, my princess. I swear to the Seven that I never set so much as a foot outside the Vale during Robert’s Rebellion.”

“A solemn vow,” she noted. “Had you not been wounded, would you have gone on to fight in the Riverlands against the royal army?”

He paled. “My princess, I must admit that I would have followed my Lord Arryn, as I was sworn to do.”

That surprised her. “An honest answer. I have a need for honest men. Perhaps you shall have that opportunity to improve your position, my lord. The hospitality of the Gates of the Moon is yours.”

“Thank you, my princess.”

Lyanna sent them off with Catelyn to appropriate quarters within the castle. Then she turned to Lysa. “Walk with me.”

She had no direction, so she simply walked. _If we hit a dead end, so be it._ “Tell me about you and Petyr.”

Lysa’s face lit up. “Well, we grew up together. We played at kissing together. Cat was always such a prude. She spent too much time listening to the septa. She never wanted to kiss Petyr, not like I did. I liked it when he put his tongue in my mouth. I always wondered where a boy from the Fingers learned such a thing.

“Later on, Cat got promised to Brandon Stark. Petyr got _very_ drunk that night. After Uncle Brynden carried him to bed, I snuck in to stay with Petyr, comforting him. That was the night I gave myself to him. He was magnificent,” she remembered lustily. After a moment, she continued, “When Brandon came for the betrothal, Petyr challenged him. Petyr’s such a sweet boy, so full of love. He wanted us both. He asked Cat for her favor, but she denied him. I gave him my favor to wear. 

“Well, Brandon, that brute, he is much older and more experienced than poor Petyr. He simply _toyed_ with Petyr, using the flat of his sword and humiliating him. Petyr was so brave. He refused to yield. Brandon was forced to finish the fight. He gave Petyr one vicious slash in the chest. Cat had pleaded with him to spare Petyr’s life, so he did. Then he went off to drink with his friends, not caring that he’d maimed someone.

“I had them carry Petyr inside, and I insisted the maester come immediately. He stitched Petyr’s face back together. He looks so dashing with that scar, don’t you think? A few nights later he took me again. I was so happy.

“Then Father sent him away, back to the Fingers. I went to Father and proclaimed my love for Petyr, telling him that I would have no other, and that I was pregnant. I hoped he would allow us to marry, but he tricked me into drinking Moon Tea and killing our baby.”

Lysa stopped and wiped away a tear. “It is a terrible thing, to hate one’s father. Yet I do. I am glad that he is dead. And I find that death has not removed my hatred of him. He killed his own grandchild, yet he used the fact that I was fertile to convince Jon Arryn that he should marry me so he could have a trueborn heir. That old man barely went a minute and then collapsed. I thought he had died. Then he rolled over and started snoring. Thank goodness my womb didn’t quicken. Hoster is a darling child and all, but Cat’s life is considerably more complicated because of him.”

“When he grows, he’ll be a page in my court,” Lyanna promised. “I’m sure he will find a knight to serve as squire. He will be a knight one day himself. Perhaps he will seek service with his Uncle Benjen or Uncle Edmure.”

“Funny to think of Edmure as an uncle when he’s a boy himself.”

Lyanna remembered one of Rhaegar’s stories. “I once heard tell of a family in Dorne where there were so many crossed relationships that a man was married to his first cousin, his second cousin, his aunt, and his goodsister. One girl, mind.”

Lysa boggled. “How is that even possible?”

“Dornish love to fuck.”

Lysa blushed prettily. “They’re not the only ones.”


	15. Viserys V

Viserys still couldn’t believe he’d been sent to his room without supper for eating a few lemon cakes. He and Renly had swiped them from the kitchen. _I don’t understand why everyone got so excited. I took food from the kitchen all the time at the Red Keep. Those cakes weren’t even that good. It’s doubly bad for Renly. He went hungry all that time. Though I suppose he must be used to not having supper. Maybe it wasn’t so bad for him._

He had been quite startled to learn that Renly, in addition to being his ward, was also his whipping boy. Two strokes of the switch, half-hearted or not, was a stinging punishment for petty pilfering. _I should do something nice for him. He has suffered nobly in the name of the dragon._

The next day, he went to Renly's room before breakfast and they went down together. 

"I think that was unfair of him," Viserys said graciously. "When I am a man grown, we shall have all the cake we can eat." 

“That will be very nice, my lord prince.”

"Soon we will have more companions," said Viserys grandly. "Ser Cyrian has sent invitations to all the stormlords. Those with sons of our age will send them to play with us."

“I look forward to it, my lord prince.”

Viserys tried not to eat too much at breakfast. He didn’t want to be stuffed and sluggish in the training yard. Ser Alliser would take him to task, prince or not, and it might even get Renly punished again.

Renly followed as they left the hall and went to the yard. They donned their padded armor and moved quickly through their warm-ups.

"Very good, my prince," Ser Alliser said to Viserys. "Your thrusts are sharp, as they should be."

He stopped in front of Renly. "Your sword still droops, Ser Fawn. You will never kill an enemy if you don't know what end to stick in him."

Renly scowled but said nothing. Viserys considered it a wise move.

"Now," Ser Alliser said, once they were finished with their exercises, "Ser Bertram and I will demonstrate proper dueling technique." 

Ser Bertram was tall and skinny, with a pockmarked face. He was a couple of years older than Rhaegar. Ser Bertram had been on watch of Viserys on the day he and Renly had stolen the lemon cakes. He was holding a weighted practice sword, looking like he hadn't held once since he was Viserys' age. Ser Alliser held his much more easily, like it was real steel.

Ser Bertram took up a defensive position and had barely gotten into it before Ser Alliser was on him. The wood flashed--left, then right, then left again, as Ser Bertram struggled to block Ser Alliser's slashes.

"These swords have been made from ironwood, the toughest wood there is. They are heavier than normal for training purposes. As you will see," Ser Alliser said, without slowing, "you may win by tiring your opponent." The loud clack of wood on wood echoed off the curtain walls surrounding the yard. "Eventually, he will no longer be able to block you." 

Ser Alliser continued his assault without pause. Ser Bertram tried valiantly to move from defense to offence, but there was never a chance with Ser Alliser’s rapid strikes. He held out for a time but eventually began moving backward. His arms were clearly getting tired, and he was forced to concede ground.

"As you can see, you can easily wear your opponent out with clever combat. If you are quicker than him, stronger than him…" With his next thrust, he sent the wooden sword spinning from Ser Bertram's hand. The poor knight stood there empty-handed, looking rather pathetic. Ser Alliser glared at him. “Remind me why I chose you for the Prince’s Guard.”

Viserys choked back a laugh. Ser Bertram had a fine reputation, and would hardly have been granted such an honor if he were not a great knight. Ser Alliser was just that much better.

"I will school you in no other weapon. The sword is the knight's best tool. You will meet other men who call themselves knights who use other weapons. You may use a lance to ride in tourneys if you wish to demonstrate your skill at horsemanship, but I will not see you use it on the field of battle if I am in any position to stop you. I will show you how to counter it in true combat.

“The morningstar is inefficient and unwieldy, just as dangerous to its wielder as an enemy. It looks impressive, but it can be foiled readily enough." He paused and looked pointedly at Renly. "And the warhammer is naught but a great meat tenderizer."

Viserys could not contain his laugh now. Renly’s traitor brother Robert had favored the warhammer.

Ser Alliser continued relentlessly. "If your opponent wields such a weapon, you can easily cut him down as he is swinging the thing over his head." 

“The sword is truly a weapon of champions, Ser Alliser,” Viserys responded. “Please continue our education.”

They worked at the form for nearly two hours, by which point the muscles in Viserys’ arms were starting to burn. He wasn’t happy with how he executed the last few motions, and neither was Ser Alliser, he could tell. Poor Renly had been forced to quit already and endured a heap of abuse for it.

“I think that will be enough for today,” Ser Alliser declared. “I will see you here tomorrow after breakfast. Eat plenty of meat. You need to build up muscle mass. Especially you, Ser Fawn.”

“I’ve got some catching up to do,” Renly snapped, clearly exhausted beyond civility. “If you want to complain to someone about my diet, I’m afraid Mace Tyrell left a few days ago.”

Ser Alliser got mad, but Viserys only laughed. “He’s got you there, Ser Alliser. He can’t help that he didn’t eat a lot of meat in the last year.”

“Yes, my lord prince.” From the glare he directed at Renly, Viserys was sure tomorrow’s lesson would be gruelling in the extreme.

After the noon meal, Viserys went to Ser Cyrian’s study. While the castellan was entrusted with running the castle’s affairs, Viserys took his duties very seriously. He wanted to know as much as he could about how the castle was run. One day it would be his responsibility alone, and he wanted to get it right. His father and Rhaegar were counting on him to rule the Stormlands well.

Ser Cyrian’s niece, Lady Jeyne, sometimes attended these lessons as well. She was Lord Swann’s oldest daughter. The war had interrupted her betrothal, and her intended had died at the Trident. Maester Cressen had confided in Viserys that part of Lord Swann being accepted back into the king’s peace had been surrendering his rights over her marriage. Viserys, as Prince of the Stormlands, would decide who Lady Jeyne married -- if he were old enough, that is. Rhaegar had claimed the authority in his brother’s stead. 

_I hope she’s not going to try to marry me. Ick. Then I’d have to kiss her and stuff. Kissing is gross. I don’t know how Rhaegar managed to do it enough to make Rhaenys, Aegon, and Jon._ He shuddered, but then he smiled. _Jon will rule the Vale, I will rule the Stormlands, and the Conquest continues. I wonder if Rhaenys will be Aegon’s wife or if she will marry Edmure Tully to bring the fish firmly under the dragon. Rhaegar already married Lyanna Stark, but maybe Rhaenys will marry her brother Benjen. That might be the only way to keep the North quiet._

Ser Cyrian did not discuss politics. He claimed to be a simple man whose head hurt at too much intrigue. It was why, he claimed, he was good at running a castle. He had no time for anything more complicated than budgets and balance sheets.

Maester Cressen, on the other hand, took great delight in educating Viserys about the possibilities. Many rebellions had been quelled by marriage alliances and inviting the chief rebel to try his hand at governance.

Viserys was now fully versed in the history of the Stormlands and the current political climate. Despite his initial resistance, he was quite looking forward to receiving his new companions. Most of them were the sons of rebels, but he was prepared to forgive them if they showed proper contrition. After all, they couldn’t help what their older relatives did.

_It’s up to me to determine if treason lurks in their hearts as well._

Viserys was starting to feel hungry, so he excused himself from the maester’s company and headed to his hall.

The wall was still bare. The weavers were working long hours, but the new dragon tapestry was not yet complete. As much as he wanted to, Viserys had not gone to look at it while they were working on it. He wanted to see it hung, the dragon in all its glory.

Viserys beckoned a serving girl over. “I want food. Bring me something.”

The girl bowed deeply. “At once, m’lord prince.”

A few minutes later she returned with a silver tray. She had brought a loaf of bread, some fresh butter, a peach, and some chicken. She set the tray down and poured him a goblet of lemon water.

“Is there anything further, m’lord prince?”

Viserys already had a mouth full of peach, the juice running down his chin. He shook his head. The girl stepped back, bowed again, and continued with her tasks.

He knew dinner would be served in only a couple of hours, but Viserys was ravenous and demolished the contents of the tray without effort. He was just a growing boy, and he was getting a lot of exercise lately. His body needed the food.

_I wonder where Renly is. I’m done with my lessons and ready to play. What shall we do? I hope he doesn’t want to ride those stupid toy horses again. Maybe I should give him a real horse. Then he can get rid of the toy ones._

Viserys decided that he would play at being a knight until dinner. He put on knightly garb and went to collect his squire.

“Come, Renly! Today we hunt for the Bandit of Bakersfield. I, Prince Viserys the Dragonknight, will slay him!”

Renly’s face lit up. “I like knights!”

They roamed through the woods, two of the Prince’s Guard and a dozen men-at-arms nearby for protection from real bandits.

Viserys rambled a great deal as they slew bushes and saplings and dodged around falling boulders.

“Ser Alliser will train us up as the best knights in the land. Isn’t he a magnificent teacher?”

“He’s terrific,” Renly agreed.

“We will take our vows in the Great Sept and be anointed by the High Septon himself. Which of the Seven will you do your vigil?”

“I dunno. Probably the Warrior.”

“So many do that, though. Some knights pledge themselves to the Maiden, vowing to defend women and the weak. While that is very chivalrous, as a Prince of the Realm, I must defend _all_ the people.”

“The Father and the Mother have their own knights, I suppose,” Renly mused. “I wonder who would follow the Crone. Would the Smith have knights?” 

“He made the swords of the first knights, so the stories say.” Viserys grinned wickedly. “Or maybe we could do vigil in front of the Stranger. He claims the dead, and every foe slain could be an offered prayer.”

Renly shivered. “Yeah.”

“Once we’re knighted, you’ll be by my side in every battle, in every tourney. Prince Viserys and Ser Renly, they will say with admiration and respect. The women will throw themselves at us. Maybe we’ll be old enough to like that. Not now. I mean, ew.”

“Yeah. Ew.”

“Then men will all want to be like us. I’ll have black enameled armor with yellow gems, and great dragonwings on my helm. You’ll fight at my side, and we’ll beat everyone.”

Renly nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, everyone!”

Viserys’ stomach suddenly made a funny gurgle. “Come, Renly. It’s time for dinner.”

When they got back to Storm’s End, they received a surprise. While they’d been out playing, the first delegation from his lords arrived. He was waiting with Ser Cyrian as they rode into the courtyard.

“My lord prince, this is Bryce Caron, heir to Nightsong. His father is Lord Bryen Caron.”

Viserys remembered their heraldry, even if he could see it. _Or, multiple nightingales sable._ “Lord Bryen stayed in the Marches.”

“He did. When Lord Robert realized that he would need to annihilate half his own lords before marching, he decided to leave the Marcher Lords to their historical task, preventing incursions from Dorne.”

Bryce Caron was a lad of six years with brown hair, a round face, and a tendency to shuffle his feet.

Viserys’ new companions hailed from all over the Stormlands. The next to arrive, Guyard Morrigen, was the third son of the Lord of Crow’s Nest, who had been sent to the Wall. Then came Beric Dondarrion, heir to Blackhaven, Casper Wylde, heir to Rain House, and Brus Buckler, grandson of the Lord of Bronzegate. Alyn Estermont, who arrived by ship, was the child Lord of Greenstone. The youngest, Guyard, was five years old. The oldest, Beric, was seven years old, the same as Viserys himself.

They arrived over the course of two weeks. Each was accompanied by an honor guard that stayed overnight in Storm’s End and left in the morning. Each boy was given a room on a long corridor two flights down from Viserys’ chambers. Renly’s room was already there, so it made sense to put the others as well.

Viserys had not waited for them all to arrive before ordering Ser Alliser to continue with his lessons at arms. Some of the boys had also begun at their homes, so Viserys felt challenged to be better. Poor Renly, already struggling with the basic lessons, began to fall behind. Viserys and the others had moved on to learning a second pattern while Renly couldn’t get the first pattern crisp enough for Ser Alliser’s satisfaction.

With more students, Ser Alliser’s training options had expanded. Now he was able to pit them against each other. Their skills - or lack thereof - were roughly equal. It was a fair contest.

Ser Alliser had given them all nicknames. Renly was still Ser Fawn. Bryce was Sweet Bird. Beric was Dunderhead. Casper was Klutzy. Brus was Donkey. Guyard was Crow Spawn. Alyn was Shellskull. No one liked their nickname, not that it made any difference. Alyn complained loudest, and Viserys smiled when Ser Alliser matched them.

The other boys fought first. Bryce lost to Beric. Casper defeated Brus. Guyard handily thrashed Renly. Then it was time for Alyn and Viserys to dance. 

Ser Alliser had them face him and salute. He returned it. They faced each other and saluted.

“Go!” Ser Alliser said.

Viserys immediately swung high. Alyn barely got his sword up in time to block. The air rang with the _clack-clack_ of wood on wood. Viserys swung low, and Alyn blocked him with more vigor. Viserys stayed on the offensive. He thrust, was deflected, thrust again, was deflected again, and followed up with a two-handed overhand swipe that would have likely cracked Alyn’s head open if it landed.

Alyn’s sword was out of position, so his only recourse was to dodge out of the way. He made a little jump to the left and spun around with a backhanded swing, and forced Viserys on the defensive. Viserys' blood surged in his veins, and he began to grin with enjoyment. _Combat is everything I thought it would be._

Viserys tried to regain the initiative, but Alyn was too fast. He pushed forward, and Viserys was forced to give ground. He began to get angry, and his swings got sloppier, forcing him to give more ground.

It was the rock that tripped him up.

Ser Alliser had scattered a number of rocks in the training yard, telling them that they would always need to be mindful of their footing on the battlefield. Viserys, moving backward, did not see the rock and stepped on it.

His ankle turned under him, and he crumbled to the ground in pain. His sword was knocked from his hand, and he felt the tip of Alyn’s sword at his throat.

“Do you yield?” Alyn demanded.

“I have no sword and I cannot stand. I must yield,” Viserys said through clenched teeth.

“Yes!” Alyn cried triumphantly. “I did it! I won!” He danced around. “I knew I could do it!”

Viserys got to his feet with Ser Alliser’s help. He hissed in pain as he tried to put weight on his foot. _I won’t be walking to Maester Cressen’s quarters._ He glared at Alyn, offended by the other boy’s exuberant display. _He didn’t even ask if I was okay. He knew I was injured. That’s not very noble._

The other boys had applauded the good match at first, but now they looked uneasy as Alyn continued celebrating.

“I beat Prince Viserys! I’m the best! I’m going to be a great knight! Woo!”

Viserys’ eyes narrowed. "Yes, you'll be a great knight, Alyn. A knight indeed. And a knight only." He stood back, his wide eyes glittering intently. "House Estermont betrayed the Iron Throne and is hereby stripped of half their lands and reduced to a mere knightly house."

Alyn stopped in his tracks. All his good cheer vanished, and his eyes suddenly widened in horror. “My lord prince! Please! I was just so happy to win. I didn’t expect to beat you. I got carried away is all.”

“Shut up, Alyn,” Viserys ordered. “Begging is unseemly. Accept your just punishment. Your deeds had little to do with it. Blame your family for their rebellion. I’m still deciding what to do with the rest of the Stormlands.” He winced as his ankle throbbed. “Ser Alliser, take me to the maester.”

“Yes, my lord prince.” Ser Alliser turned to the others. “Put those swords back on the rack this instant. If I hear one of you has so much as touched them while I’m gone, I’ll have you all whipped.”

Viserys leaned heavily on the Kingsguard as they made their way inside.

“My lord prince, I apologize for the rocks.”

“Think nothing of it, ser. You did right, and I wasn’t watching. The fault is mine.”

The maester diagnosed him with a mild sprain and advised him to keep his weight off the foot for the next few weeks. He took a length of cloth and wrapped the ankle up tightly.

When Ser Cyrian came to find him, Viserys was in his bed, propped up with pillows, his foot elevated, and a tray of strawberry tarts occupying his full attention.

“Ah, my lord prince! How do you feel?”

“At the moment, quite well,” Viserys said grandly. “Maester Cressen gave me a little bit of milk of the poppy in a glass of water, and my ankle doesn’t hurt at all now.”

“Good. I hear there were some words said in the yard.”

“Yes. I decided how to punish Estermont for their rebellion.”

“How is that, my lord prince?”

“Half their lands and loss of noble title.”

“Loss of title? To a knightly house?”

“Until Alyn can demonstrate to me that he is noble.”

“So you want him to stay at Storm’s End?” Ser Cyrian said with surprise.

“Of course. He needs to learn from me, the same as Renly. I see it now. That’s why you wanted me to have these companions. I need to teach them all.”


	16. Rhaegar VI

Rhaegar panicked when he could not find Lyanna’s young brother.

While he had been hatching his plans, Aerys had made clever moves as well. Though he himself was imprisoned, his pet pyromancer had escaped and was spreading a thoroughly exaggerated tale of Rhaegar’s coup. Supposedly he’d stormed Maegor’s Holdfast with a hundred black armored knights and slain every living person until coming to the throne room where he’d strangled Aerys with his own hands.

_Not that I wasn’t tempted._

Benjen Stark, Domeric Bolton, and Edmure Tully were all wards of the crown and the crown had moved them someplace. Nobody seemed to know where they were.

He had little time to investigate. He was too busy meeting with various nobles and trying to run the kingdom. His small council needed to be replenished with capable men, not bootlickers and those who would abuse their position for personal gain. Though he trusted Pycelle, it bothered him that the Grand Maester of his council was chosen for him. Lord Varys was entirely too slippery for Rhaegar’s liking. After every conversation with the eunuch, he found himself wanting to bathe. The smell of lilac seemed to linger in the air despite his departure.

At least Lord Redwyne had earned his seat as Master of Ships with the blockade of Storm’s End. Rhaegar knew he could grant the seat to no other. He intended to appoint as many of his friends as he could manage. He needed a Master of Coin, a Master of Laws, and a Hand.

Prince Oberyn called upon Rhaegar in his solar. It was the first time they had spoken alone since Rhaegar’s wedding to Elia so many years ago. He had never been sure how to read the brother of the Dornish ruler, but as he strode in he seemed like a dervish from the Dornish wastes.

Rhaegar stood to greet him. “Welcome, my goodbrother. I have been expecting you. May I pour you some wine?”

“Thank you.” The Red Viper drained his goblet in one pull and held it out negligently. The page hastily refilled it. 

“Will you be seated?”

The Dornishman flowed into his chair. “You have insulted my sister. You have insulted me. You have insulted the people of Dorne. You know what I do to men who insult me. Tell me why I should not do the same to you.”

_This is going to go well, I can tell_. Rhaegar smiled wanly. “I cannot. You should do this thing. I have given great insult.”

Oberyn laughed duskily, like a snake rubbing its own scales together. “You surprise me, my prince. I did not expect you be so open.”

“Being deceptive started one war. I would avoid another.”

“Well spoken.”

“I have my reasons for my actions. Though not happy in my marriage, I am no philanderer like the late Lord Robert.”

“You misunderstand, my prince. I care nothing for you taking another lover. In Dorne, such a thing is common, even if not formalized by a blessing from the Seven. The insult lies in the deception.” Oberyn looked sharply at Rhaegar, piercing him with his gaze. “You left my sister out. Why did you not go to her when you wanted this wolf girl? She would not have refused you.”

Rhaegar had no answer. “Such a thing did not cross my mind. I cannot say why.”

Oberyn wasn’t finished. “And more, you should have included her out of respect. You and Elia should have invited the wolf girl into your bed. You should not have left it to seek another’s.”

The idea of having Elia and Lyanna together at once was scandalously naughty, and his septa would have been ashamed of him for wanting it.

“Would she do such a thing?” _I can only imagine Lyanna’s face were I to ask her._

Oberyn smiled knowingly. “She might have once, but no longer. Keep the wolf girl in the Eyrie with her son.”

_Our son._ “I had hoped to call them back to King’s Landing.”

“Elia does not want to know her.”

Rhaegar nodded. “I understand. Though it is with regret, I will comply with her wishes.”

Oberyn nodded his head. “Good. Now, how will you redress the insult to her?”

“When my father dies, I will be king. Elia will be my queen. Lyanna will not.”

After a moment’s thought, Oberyn said, “That is good. That shows respect for Dorne.”

“I have nothing but respect for Dorne, Prince Oberyn. Some of my dearest friends are Dornishmen.”

“I know well of your fondness for House Dayne. They are a fine old house with much honor. Elia is glad to have Lady Ashara attending her again.” Oberyn paused, enjoying his wine. “You will make Rhaenys your heir, in the Dornish fashion.”

Rhaegar’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Oberyn held up his glass, admiring the color of the wine. “Westeros resisted a female heir once before. You will change it.”

“I cannot.”

The gaze of a serpent was said to be mesmerizing. Oberyn had a similarly intense focus. “You single-handedly saved the realm. You then deposed your father and claimed his throne. Yet there is something you cannot do.”

Rhaegar’s mind was troubled. “I will think on it.”

Oberyn smiled with evident satisfaction. “We will speak again.”

Once the Dornish prince had gone on his way, Rhaegar turned his attention to the ongoing search for Rossart. The pyromancer’s poison had put Lord Aerryk Dayne through the proverbial wringer, and he was finally beginning to recover. Lord Walter Whent had organized the search, putting his soldiers to good use. So far they had turned up no clues, despite his ongoing agitations.

Despite his inherent distrust of the eunuch, Rhaegar summoned the Master of Whisperers.

“What whispers have you heard concerning Rossart?”

“The man is constantly on the move. He speaks to whoever will listen, he riles the people up, and then he ducks away before any soldiers can arrive on the scene.”

“We need to find him and stop him.”

“Of course, Your Grace. I will tell my little birds to keep their eyes open for him.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

He made a little bow. “It is my pleasure to serve. Is there anything else I may assist you with today?”

“Yes, actually. What has become of Benjen Stark, Domeric Bolton, and Edmure Tully? No one has seen them in weeks.”

Without hesitation, he replied, “They were brought by carriage to Rosby. Lord Gyles promised to keep them contained as long as necessary.”

“Gyles, Gyles,” Rhaegar pondered, trying to place the name with a face.

“You know him, Your Grace. He’s a shorter man, but he has a powerful build. Quite the picture of health, really.”

Rhaegar nodded, “Yes, I recall him now. Please send a messenger to Lord Eustace Brune and tell him I’d like to see him.”

“At once, Your Grace.”

Lord Eustace arrived ten minutes later and bowed deeply. “I am at your command, Your Grace.”

“Please be seated, my lord,” Rhaegar invited. He gestured to the page to pour some wine. “You were one of my ablest commanders during the war.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“We still have some mopping up to do. Are your troops still ready to march?”

“They can be made so by the morning.”

“Good. You are ordered to Robsy to take custody of his three young guests. Though only lads, they are the Lords Stark, Bolton, and Tully. If Rosby resists, you may take whatever steps you deem necessary to carry out your orders. I want those boys brought back here unharmed. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good. That will be all.”

Alone again with his thoughts, Rhaegar sipped from his goblet and stared out the window.

_How fares Lyanna? She has not yet written since her arrival at the Gates of the Moon. I must write to her as soon as I know Benjen is safe. Seven save me. She will never forgive me if he comes to harm._

With a deep sigh, he turned back to his letters. Ser Cyrian wrote from Storm’s End that all was well.

_Prince Viserys is delightful. His courtesy only slips when he is very excited, in the manner of boys. I have called on the Stormlords to send young sons as hostages. I expect their arrival within the month. The company of other boys will be good for him, and they will accept him more readily if they grow up together. Ser Alliser suggested that they send their daughters to someplace suitable. Maester Cressen suggested House Sweet. With your permission, I shall write to Lord Lynyrd and make the arrangements. Within a generation, the Baratheons will be forgotten._

Rhaegar smiled. Viserys had begun his instruction at arms and was doing well. _Of course. How could my brother not be a great warrior? The blood of the dragon is strong. I wish I could take him as my squire as he so desires, but it just is not possible. I must see to the realm._

Fortunately the realm was well-served by his next visitor.

“Jon!” Lord Varys’ little birds had passed the word to the exiled noble, inviting him to come home.

His old friend stopped with a pained expression, knelt, and bowed his head. “Your Grace.”

Rhaegar remembered himself and where he was. “Lord Connington.”

“No longer.”

“Once again. I restore you to your seat at Griffin’s Roost.”

“Ronnet won’t be happy to see me again.”

“Ronnet can piss off. Now it means he’s heir to a lordship not merely a knightship.”

“True, that is.”

“It is good to see you, old friend.”

“And you, Your Grace.”

“Welcome back to Westeros. Sit down, and let’s get drunk.”

“As you command, Your Grace.”

“Why so formal, Jon?”

“You are not the same man as the friend I left behind. Now you are a king.”

“Prince Regent.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Call it what you will. You are a king. Familiarity is unseemly.”

“There’s only us and the cupbearer,” Rhaegar pointed out.

“And some of the eunuch’s little birds, no doubt,” Jon said darkly, glaring at the walls.

“No doubt. Very well, Lord Connington.”

“I must tell you. Take a wild guess who I encountered in Volantis.”

“I am horrible at guessing. Tell me.”

“One of your rebel lords. Stannis Baratheon.”

Rhaegar blinked twice. “So he yet lives.”

“Aye. He’s missing a few fingers and sought to join the Golden Company. I was going to bring him back for you, but he slipped away from me.”

“He lost those fingers courtesy of Randyl Tarly. Did you learn how he escaped?”

“Sadly, no. He called himself Lyonel Storm, pretended to be Estermont’s bastard. I recognized him at once, though he obviously did not remember me. He eluded me after a bit of a chase. He must have had help.”

“I wonder what he will do.”

Jon shrugged. “It matters little. He will run into one bad end or another. I’m much more interested in what’s been going on here. Congratulations on winning the war, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Rhaegar replied dryly. “Twas Ser Jaime’s presence that made all the difference. He saved my life. The bards already sing of it.”

“The realm saved by a Lannister,” Jon chortled. “Oh, that ought to make old Tywin happy. His son will live forever in song, a companion to the mighty Prince Rhaegar.”

“Does anything make Lord Tywin happy?”

“Crushing those who defy him.” Jon gave him a pointed look. “What do you intend to do about him?”

“Do?”

“He sat out the war. He did not respond to your father’s repeated orders to march.”

“After the insults he endured, I cannot say I am surprised,” Rhaegar conceded. “Yet of all my lords, he has not come to bend the knee.”

“You must placate him. The realm needs peace, and the economy needs his gold.”

“How? What does he want?”

“Ask him. Ask his son. Ask Lord Varys.”

Rhaegar pondered that while he drained his goblet. “I am glad to see you again, old friend. I need your counsel. I would name you Hand of the King.”

Jon grinned at him. “I thought you weren’t the king.”

Rhaegar scowled, but Jon only laughed.

“It is good to be back, Your Grace. Yet I must refuse the honor you would grant me. I am not cunning or ruthless enough to be a Hand. No, if you want my counsel, you will offer it to Lord Tywin and pray the Seven he accepts. With his help, the realm will recover quickly.”

Rhaegar considered the question. “The realm knew twenty years of prosperity with Lord Tywin’s influence. I should like to see twenty more.”


	17. Lyanna VI

It was clear that Lysa could not be objective where it regarded Petyr. Lyanna needed to know more about what had happened at Riverrun before the war. She went to one of the principals of the situation.

Catelyn was a properly attentive lady in waiting. She carried out her duties well, but there was always something reserved about her. She and Lyanna had achieved a small breakthrough, and she allowed Lyanna to hold Hoster freely now, but never alone. 

Lyanna found Catelyn in the nursery. “Catelyn, may I have a word with you?”

“I am at your command, my princess,” Catelyn said formally. She was always stiffly correct, refusing to treat Lyanna as her goodsister.

“I would know about Petyr Baelish and the duel at Riverrun.”

Catelyn nodded readily. “Has Lysa filled your head with nonsense?”

“Why don’t you tell me your perspective?”

“Alright.” She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. “Well, Petyr was fostered at Riverrun for many years. He is like a little brother to me.”

“How did that come to be?” Lyanna inquired curiously. “A small lord’s son from the Fingers fostered with the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands?”

“Petyr’s father and my father met during the War of the Ninepenny Kings.”

“I see.” Stranger things had happened during wars. “Go on.”

“When we got a little older, we played at kissing games. I never really liked that. The septas told me that kissing leads to other things. He tried to do more. I knew I was supposed to wait and save myself for my future lord husband. Petyr joked that it would be him, so there was no harm in doing it now.”

Catelyn smiled, the first genuine smile Lyanna had ever seen. “I laughed at that. Friendship or not, Father would never let me marry a boy barely noble. If I had known how things would turn out, I think I would have let him. I wonder what it’s like with someone who wants to, not has a duty to. Ned was dutiful.

She shook her head. “I never realized how strongly Petyr felt about me. The night my betrothal was announced, we danced six times. He tried to kiss me, but I pushed him away and laughed at him. I knew he was upset about the betrothal, but I thought it was because he didn’t want things to change. I was shocked when he challenged Brandon. I tried to talk him out of it, but the only way I could do that, he said, was if I agreed to run away with him. That was such a stupid idea. We would be caught, he would be killed or sent to the Wall, and I would still have to marry Brandon. I denied him. He pleaded for my favor. I refused him.

Catelyn sighed heavily. “Lysa gave him her favor. She’s always been infatuated with him. She always wanted to play those kissing games. She told me how much she liked it when he put his tongue in her mouth.”

“She mentioned,” Lyanna said dryly.

“The duel was horrific. Petyr is scrawny, as you saw, and the sword was as big as him.”

“Really?”

“Well, nearly so,” Catelyn amended. “They met in the lower bailey of Riverrun. When Brandon saw that Petyr wore only helm and breastplate and mail, he took off most of his armor. As I said, Petyr had begged me for a favor he might wear, but I had turned him away. My lord father had promised me to Brandon, and so it was to him that I gave my token, a pale blue handscarf I had embroidered with the leaping trout of Riverrun. As I pressed it into his hand, I pleaded with him. ‘He is only a foolish boy, but I have loved him like a brother. It would grieve me to see him die.’ And my betrothed looked at me with those cool grey eyes and promised to spare the boy who loved me.”

_I would give anything to see Brandon’s eyes again, whether filled with mirth or rage._

Catelyn shuddered. “The duel was over almost as soon as it began. Brandon was a man grown, twenty years old. Petyr was scarcely fourteen at the time. He drove Petyr all the way across the bailey and down the water stair, raining steel on him with every step, until he was staggering and bleeding from a dozen wounds. ‘Yield!’ Brandon called, more than once, but Petyr would only shake his head and fight on, grimly. When the river was lapping at their ankles, Brandon finally ended it, with a brutal backhand cut that bit through Petyr's rings and leather into the soft flesh below the ribs, so deep that I was certain that the wound was mortal. He looked at me as he fell and murmured my name as the bright blood came flowing out between his mailed fingers.”

Lyanna could picture it vividly. “Madness.”

“I never comforted Petyr once after he was wounded, nor bid him farewell when Father sent him off. Perhaps that makes me a horrible person.”

“No, you did your duty. You were betrothed to Brandon.”

“He bid me wait while he rode out to rescue you. ‘I shall not be long, my lady,’ he vowed. ‘We will be wed on my return.’ Yet when the day came at last, it was Ned who stood beside me in the sept. Then he too was gone, never to return.”

_Brandon killed by my goodfather. Ned killed by my husband’s bodyguard. Their widow now my servant. War is madness. Yet what else could be done? Marry Robert? Let him dishonor me within a fortnight? I would have put a knife in his heart. Then that prickly brother of his, Stannis, would have executed me. Then Brandon would have made Father call the banners. I wonder what side Ned would have chosen. Robert meant so much to him._

Lyanna took Jon and left Catelyn to her thoughts as she headed to her first full court session as Lady Regent of the Vale.

“All hail Jon of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonvale, and Warden of the East!” The herald was one of Rhaegar’s men, a third son of one of the Narrow Sea houses. “His noble mother Princess Lyanna, of Houses Stark and Targaryen, the Lady Regent of Dragonvale.”

Lyanna carried Jon into the hall, and every person went down on one knee. She went to the lord’s chair - her chair - and faced them. She sat and did not yet give them leave to stand.

“My lords of the Vale, most of you committed treason against the Iron Throne. House Arryn has earned the ultimate punishment, and House Targaryen rules the Vale now. We rename it Dragonvale. As you once pledged and followed Jon Arryn, you will now pledge yourselves to Jon Targaryen. Any who refuse will be disinherited. Any who break their pledge will be destroyed. You will all bear witness to each other’s oath.”

Lyn Corbray was the first to speak the words. “Princess Lyanna, I, Lyn of House Corbray, do pledge my undying loyalty to you, to Prince Jon, to King Aerys. My swords and knights are yours to command.”

“House Corbray rebelled, but you remained loyal and true. Such steadfastness shall be rewarded. King Aerys has made you the lord of your house, passing over your brother Lyonel. He remains a guest of the crown. From Prince Jon, you now receive double your lands and incomes.”

House Corbray was an old house but poor. This reward for leal service would go far toward helping restore their fortunes.

“I thank him for his generosity. It is my honor to serve House Targaryen.”

“Rise, Lord Corbray,” she commanded. “Your support is most welcome. Take your place at my table.”

Ser Lyn was not the only knight raised to lordship. Ser Uther Shett of Gulltown and Ser Daemon Shett of Gull Tower had fought under the dragon banner with great honor. House Shett’s fortunes had waned over the years. Once they had ruled Gulltown, displaced by the Graftons. Now their star was rising again as they were again raised to a noble house and Lord Daemon was granted lands and incomes on the peninsula.

Further up into the bay, House Waxley was raised to a noble house. They were granted the right to collect taxes on ships traveling to Maidenpool or beyond.

All the others, every house that had risen in rebellion, were being punished. Lyanna had the complete list that King Aerys had approved. It was a harsh document. The first draft had been unforgiving. Rhaegar had flat out informed his father that no soldier in his army would obey an order to execute children. An individual child being killed might be grumbled about, but that’s all. Widespread murder? Even the smallfolk would rise up if they were to find out.

The revised list allowed what she did now.

“Robar Royce,” she called to her court.

A boy dressed in red stepped forward, visibly nervous. He got down on both knees.

“King Aerys does not suffer traitors to live,” she proclaimed. “My husband, Prince Rhaegar, has convinced him that children cannot be traitors through conscious decision but only by blindly following the instructions of those they love and trust. Robar, though your father and brother were traitors who took up arms against the crown, you are allowed to inherit Runestone.”

“Thank you, my princess. I reject my family’s actions and promise that I will be loyal to House Targaryen.”

Lyanna looked at the man who stood nearby. “Ser Nestor.”

He went to one knee next to his nephew. “How may I serve, my princess?”

The man was in her debt. She had saved his neck from a noose by allowing him to kneel. 

“Jon Arryn evidently believed you could be trusted to run a castle. He named you the Keeper of the Gates. Let us see if his faith in you was well-placed. I name you castellan of Runestone. You will guide your nephew and teach him submission to the will of the dragon.”

“I hear and obey, my princess.”

And he would obey. Always. If he defied her wishes too strenuously, she would withdraw the privilege. He would have no choice but to obey or rebel, and rebellion would only get men killed for nothing. Then the family _would_ lose Runestone, and likely their lives.

House Templeton of Ninestars, for many years on the cusp of crossing from a knightly house to a noble house, would have to wait several more generations at the least. Their lands were cut in half. 

Also reduced by half were House Waynwood of Ironoaks, House Belmore of Strongsong, House Redfort of Redfort, and House Hunter of Longbow Hall. These were among the most powerful houses in the Vale. The price paid for their lives was steep and insured they would be weaker for a decade or more.

Other houses came to dearly repent their treason. House Melcolm of Old Anchor was stripped of noble title, their lands cut to a third. Also lowered to knightly houses were House Hersy of Newkeep, House Upcliff, and House Moore. House Tollett, a minor noble house formerly sworn to Runestone, was now a knightly house sworn to House Shett of Gull Tower.

House Grafton was already strong from their dominance of the Bay of Crabs. With the Royces falling into disfavor and the power of Runestone waning, they would gain proportionately.

“Lord Gerold, your brother, of all the lords of the Vale, kept his fealty to King Aerys. He died for his loyalty, and his sacrifice shall be remembered. You yourself were captured and imprisoned, and this suffering we will also remember. You placed your faith in House Targaryen, and that faith shall be justified. From where the mountains become hills and east to the sea, all shall answer to House Grafton as the new overlord of the eastern peninsula.”

“My princess,” Lord Gerold stumbled, “I- that is to say, all- I mean, this is unexpected.”

“The dragon rewards its servants, my lord. Tell me, are you as yet unmarried?”

“No woman has yet won my heart,” he declared.

Lyanna tried not to smirk. “We will find you a worthy wife, my lord. House Grafton must flourish.”

Now he turned slightly red. “As you command, my princess.”

Lysa giggled.

Now that all the lords had presented themselves and sworn their oaths, Lyanna tried to relax a bit. She couldn’t let go of the rigid posture she had adopted, for her court was still in session.

“Now that we have rewarded our loyal lords and punished a lot of fools, let’s see a real fool.”

The fool somersaulted into the space before her throne as she quenched her thirst with a goblet of Arcian red.

_The Arbor has its golds and sweet reds. The Dornish, their strongwine and sour reds. Still, nothing compares with Arcian red. Thank you, Rhaegar, for introducing me to it. With every sip, I taste your sweet kisses._

Once they’d all had a jolly forced laugh (in most cases), Lyanna called for the feast to begin. Servants brought in platters of steaming food. Her lords had offered their oaths, now she offered her food and protection.

The musicians kept a lively atmosphere, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Lyanna ate perhaps not enough and drank a bit too much. Her stomach kept fluttering nervously, keeping her from eating more than a bite at a time, and the wine helped to soothe her butterflies.

Without Lyanna being aware of it, Petyr Baelish was suddenly at her elbow. He leaned in and whispered, “My princess, I have urgent news.”

The serious tone in his voice erased the pleasant fog of wine from her brain. “Go on.”

“I have heard whispers of treason.”

She casually got to her feet. “My lords, excuse me momentarily.” She staggered, grabbing at Petyr’s shoulder. “Help me walk,” she commanded imperiously.

He properly offered his arm, and she took it, leaning heavily on him -- until they were out of the hall and the doors had boomed shut behind them. She whirled to face him.

“Most clever,” Petyr said with plain admiration.

“Quite,” she snapped. “Treason?”

He sobered at once. “Yes, my princess. I overheard something I was not meant to hear. Tell me, do you trust Ser Nestor?”

“After a fashion,” she answered cautiously. The man had been rather helpful, but she would have been suspicious if he were quick to give up his long-held loyalty to House Arryn.

“You may want to reconsider. He has been approached by Lord Belmore with a most interesting proposal.”

“Which is?” Lyanna hated dragging stories out of people.

“Kidnapping, though I suppose they consider it rescue.”

“Rescue?” Lyanna suddenly connected the bits. “Alyssa?”

“They used no names, but their intent was clear.”

“And what did Ser Nestor have to say to this proposal?”

“Declared his intention to help. They will strike tonight, after the castle is asleep.”

“We shall see about that,” Lyanna declared. She summoned Ser Arthur. “Tell him what you told me, Petyr.”

Ser Arthur accepted the news with serious mein. “I mean you no offense, young man, but the word of a callow youth matters little against that of several great lords.”

“Not so great now,” Petyr observed.

“You speak the truth, but the point is still well-taken,” Lyanna said. “I am the one who shall decide the sentence, and I must have proof. My lord father never hesitated to execute the guilty, but he always made absolutely certain of the fact. I will rule in the same manner. How can we obtain irrefutable evidence?”

“Catch them in the act,” Petyr said at once. “Let them carry out their little plan, clever as they think it to be, and there will be no questions. Then those caught will give up those who plotted.”

“It is a good plan, my princess,” Ser Arthur said. “I shall have a dozen men inside Lady Alyssa’s room ready to apprehend these false lords. They dishonor their pledge of fealty to king and prince. I wish I could slay them for you.”

“We need to question them,” Lyanna reminded him. “We must know who else be involved.”

“I understand, my princess. I was only expressing my disgust with their actions.”

Lyanna returned to the hall but was unable to enjoy the feast any longer. She watched as Lord Benedar Belmore, Lord Horton Redfort, and Lord Eon Hunter slipped out one at a time, several minutes apart. It was cleverly done. Lord Redfort had his arm around a wench and looked every bit like a man headed for a roll in the sheets. Lord Hunter claimed an abundance of ale and the need for a healthy piss. Lord Belmore made a great show of yawning as he downed the last of his wine and retired.

_Had Petyr not alerted me, I might not have noticed. I thought we would be safe once the war was over. I thought all we had left to worry about was the king._


	18. Viserys VI

Viserys was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. His new tapestry was finished and would be delivered today. He and the other children went to the great hall for lunch to see a long package wrapped in brown paper lying on the high table. Men were leaning ladders against the wall, next to the bare spot where the old stag tapestry had once hung, the square of bright, clean stone standing out against the aged, smoke-stained rest of the wall.

"My tapestry!" Viserys cried in delight, charging toward the table. "It’s here! It’s ready! Hang it up!"

"They are, my lord prince," Ser Cyrian said. "It will be up soon."

As the great tapestry was lifted into its hanging place, Viserys clasped his hands together in anticipation as the tapestry was unfurled.

Three great dragons, one red, one black, and one golden soared over a forest. The forest was engulfed in flames, animals fleeing in the dragons' wake. One of them was a stag, its antlers ablaze.

Viserys gazed up, enthralled. "It's perfect." He turned to his companions. "Isn't it perfect?"

"It's beautiful, my lord prince," said Beric.

The others murmured similar acknowledgements.

Viserys' gaze fixed on Renly. "Isn't it magnificent?"

"It's very well-made, my lord prince."

"Aren't dragons stronger than stags?"

Renly remained silent.

"Dragons are stronger than stags," Casper recited clearly. He looked extremely pleased with himself.

"Dragons are stronger than stags!" exclaimed Guyard, jumping up and down, sending his dark curls bouncing. "We eat venison. Who ever heard of eating dragons?"

"What kind of house would eat their own sigil?" Alyn said.

"Turtle soup," Renly hissed at him, earning a scowl. 

“Now that the new tapestry is in place, we must dispose of the old one,” Viserys said. “Are the preparations complete?”

“Yes, my lord prince,” said Ser Cyrian

“Excellent." Viserys smiled at Renly. "We are going to have a great bonfire after lunch."

A space had been cleared and a large pile of wood had already been built up. It stood taller than a man. 

"Splendid," Viserys said proudly. "Bring me the torch!”

A man approached with a lit torch. He offered it to Viserys. He grinned widely as he took it. He strode forward and thrust it into the wood. It had been soaked with naphtha and flared up instantly. 

Servants had made a big pile of things from the castle. There were banners from the battlements, tapestries from the corridors, effigies carved in wood, and more. Anything with a stag on it that could not bring comfort to the smallfolk would feed the fire.

Viserys walked over to the pile and took a gold pin. He tossed it into the flames.

"Come on," Viserys said to everyone. "It's fun."

Alyn seized a banner. He rolled it up tight and threw it into the fire. Beric, Brus, and Casper followed his example.

Viserys watched the leaping flames, transfixed. His smile widened each time something was added. 

"Look, Renly," he said. "See how well the dragon fire burns the stags?"

"I see," he said. 

"This is really my castle now. All of the stag things belonged to your rebel brothers. But you're loyal to me, aren't you, Renly?" Viserys said hopefully. "You're my friend?"

"Yes," Renly said.

Viserys turned to the men. “Add the tapestry."

A group of men came forward, carrying the stag tapestry. Renly ran forward. 

"What are you doing, Renly?" Viserys asked.

Renly froze. "Nothing." 

The men heaved the tapestry into the blaze. The ancient threads caught in no time and soon it was burning. 

"Dragons are stronger than stags," Guyard piped up.

“Dragons are stronger than stags,” Alyn agreed.

The others followed his lead until they were all chanting. "Dragons are stronger than stags! Dragons are stronger than stags!"

A lone voice cut through the chanting. "All the dragons are dead!"

The other children fell silent. The only sound was the crackling of the flames.

"What did you say, Renly?" Viserys advanced on him.

"I said, 'All the dragons are dead," Renly said smugly. "They have been dead for over one hundred years. The last one died feeble and unable to sit a rider. There will never be another."

Viserys felt his blood surging with rage. "Do you want to wake the dragon, Renly?"

Renly laughed. "You're not a dragon."

Viserys slapped him. All the other boys were staring at them.

"Do you want to wake the dragon?" Viserys shouted.

"They're dead!" Renly screamed. "They're all dead and you're not a dragon!"

"The dragons are the lords of the Seven Kingdoms!" Viserys cried. Everyone—the children, Ser Alliser, Ser Cyrian, the servants, was staring now. "The stags are gone. One is dead, one is fled, and now there's only you."

"You're wrong!" Renly flung himself on Viserys. "Stannis is coming back for me."

They fell, grappling in the dirt.

"If he cared about you, why hasn't he? He fled like a coward under dark of night, with that smuggler."

They rolled around like commoners brawling in a tavern.

"Take that back!" Renly seized Viserys' hair and yanked.

"You take it back!" Viserys scratched Renly's face.

Then Ser Alliser's hand appeared and grabbed Renly by his hair. "You will not lay hands on the prince!" he roared.

Renly squirmed out of his grasp, glaring at Ser Alliser. "He started it."

"I do not care who started it," Ser Cyrian said. "You have acted disgracefully. Prince Viserys is your gracious host and this is how you show your gratitude?"

"Storm's End is __my__ home! He should be my guest."

"As it was," Ser Cyrian said soberly, “before your brother decided to play the game of thrones."

"I think Renly should go to his room," Viserys said primly, looking at Ser Cyrian.

“Yes, agreed. Let us talk on what is to be done with him.”

The other children were sent off while Viserys, Ser Cyrian, Ser Alliser, and Maester Cressen convened. The bonfire continued to burn cheerfully, but Viserys’ enjoyment of it was shattered.

Viserys couldn’t believe that Renly had been so angry as to hit him and swear at him and express gladness that there were no more dragons left in the world. “I thought Renly was my friend. Why would he say such hateful things?”

“Seeing his family’s sigil consigned to the flames must have upset the boy,” Maester Cressen said.

“He needs to be punished,” Ser Alliser snapped. “He struck Prince Viserys.”

“Renly seems to have a problem with hitting people,” Viserys noted. “He told me about how he struck Lord Tarly and how Stannis took the punishment in his stead. He didn’t seem to learn his lesson.”

“Beat it out of him,” Ser Alliser advised. “Every time he hits someone, he gets a beating. Even he should figure it out eventually.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Maester Cressen said mildly. “Renly is a good boy, eager to please. He’s only acting out because his whole world has been upended. He misses his brothers. He feels abandoned by them. Surely you can understand, my lord prince. Would you not be angry if your brother and other family were snatched away from you?”

“Of course,” Viserys answered instantly.

“Be patient with Renly,” the maester pleaded, spreading his hands wide. “It has only been a few months. In time, he will think on them less and less. Soon his life here with you will be all he knows. When he settles down, you’ll see a whole other side of him.”

Ser Cyrian had listened to all of the argument with a thoughtful expression. “He must be punished, maester. What would you suggest as being most effective?”

The old man looked up at the ceiling in thought for a moment. “Perhaps a strapping and a few days confined to his bedroom? Renly hates to be idle.”

“Very well,” Ser Cyrian said. “Three strokes for each time he struck the prince.”

The maester’s face blanched, but he nodded. “So be it.”

Ser Alliser and Ser Cyrian went to see Renly’s punishment done. The maester lingered.

“My lord prince, may I speak with you?”

“Of course, maester. What is on your mind?”

“I am worried about Renly, my lord prince. I have seen your efforts to win him over. You have stood up for him against Ser Alliser. You have played games beneath your dignity so that you may play with him. You must continue these efforts. I know he lost his temper today, but I also know that you would become very angry if someone were to burn the dragon banner.”

“I would __kill__ them!” Viserys shouted.

“Yes. A man’s love of his house is ingrained since birth, and to see the symbol attacked provokes violent reaction in all noblemen.”

“The stag is attainted.”

“Yes, but Renly’s heart doesn’t realize that yet. It will be a long time until he stops thinking of himself as a Baratheon, if he ever does. The family name may always mean something to him. There are noble heroes in the Baratheon line, even if Robert foolishly sought to challenge the dragon. And it is his by rights. When he is knighted, he will be allowed to bear the black stag on a gold shield.”

“He tried to tell me I had bastard colors,” Viserys said, remembering the day with a laugh. “I had to tell him that my black field matches the main Targaryen banner. His house was founded by a Targaryen bastard, and the Durrandon colors are mine reversed, so Baratheons had bastard Targaryen colors.”

“None of this is easy for a boy of six to understand. He would have a hard enough time dealing with any one of the momentous events in his life, and he has many happening at the same time. It is overwhelming, and when young children experience too much stimulation, they become angry, ill-tempered, sometimes even violent. Renly has simply been pushed too far. He needs to digest all the changes to his life.”

Maester Cressen had many insights into Renly’s character, having practically raised the boy after the shipwreck that had claimed his parents’ lives. Only the fool, Patchface, had survived. Renly had told Viserys about him in hushed tones. He made strange ravings, talking about being under the sea. Renly didn’t really like his ranting, and they had tended to avoid playing near him.

Viserys went to Renly’s room in a magnanimous mood. After talking with Maester Cressen, he felt as though he understood Renly a lot more. _If Rhaegar had been killed at the Trident, I suppose I would have been just as bad, if not worse._

“Renly?” Viserys said, entering without knocking. “I want you to know that I forgive y-”

The words died on his lips as he saw Renly on the floor playing with carved and painted knights. He was holding one with the Baratheon/Durrandon stag and was knocking over other knights decorated with the red dragon.

Viserys’ pulse jumped. “Renly! Where did you get those? You’re doing it wrong. Dragons are stronger than stags. That knight couldn’t beat all those others. You stupid child!” he yelled. “Are you trying to wake the dragon?”

“My lord prince,” Renly stammered. His eyes were red, and he had been crying. He cast about, trying to find some words, but he had nothing.

Viserys stood still for a moment, trying to master his rage. _What would Rhaegar do?_ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I think you need a new room."

"But this is _my_ room!" Renly protested, his voice on the edge of fresh tears.

“No, it’s not. Not anymore. This is a room for a lord’s son. You’re worthless traitor-kin. You’re nothing, Renly. You don’t deserve a room like this. I will put you somewhere else."

Viserys grabbed Renly’s arm and hauled him out of the room. Ser Alliser’s presence made Viserys feel certain that Renly wouldn’t try to hit him again. _If he wakes the dragon, I’ll throw him down these stairs._

Renly was moving stiffly, the sting from his punishment still fresh. Viserys practically had to drag him. On the stairs they met Maester Cressen. He smiled at them.

"Hello again, my lord prince," Maester Cressen said. "Hello, Renly. What are you two off to then?"

"Renly needs a new room," Viserys said. "Where are my dungeons?"

Maester Cressen's face fell. "You don't want to put him in the dungeons, my lord prince. The storm cells are no place for our friends."

"He isn't my friend. He said horrible things to me. He hit me. He has been keeping secrets from me. He is a traitor."

"His brothers were traitors," Maester Cressen said patiently. "Renly is a little boy, younger than you, who knew no better. You must teach him how to behave. He’s sorry he hit you. He knows he needs to hold his fury. He has received his punishment for that transgression, so you must forgive him."

Viserys thought for a moment. "Then I will put him in here." At the very bottom, built into the stairs, was a small closet. Viserys opened the door. A broom fell out. "This is the perfect place for him. Isn't it, Renly?"

Renly said nothing.

Viserys pinched his arm. "It's the perfect place for you. Isn't it?"

"It'stheperfectplaceforme," he whispered quickly.

"Louder."

Renly swallowed hard. "It's the perfect place for me."

Viserys smiled. "Now you must move your things."

They went back upstairs to Renly's old room, where Viserys went through all of Renly's clothes, declaring them all too small for himself. He tossed them on the floor.

"Take those downstairs," he ordered Renly. Renly bent and began gathering up what he could carry. When he reached for a very nice gold and black cloak, Viserys stepped on it. "You can't have that.”

Renly tugged on it, trying to get it out from under Viserys' foot.

“Renly,” Viserys warned him.

The other boy looked up and Viserys slapped him in the face. He let go of the cloak.

"You can have this," Viserys said, tossing an old green cloak that was too small at him. It was more of a cape than a cloak.

When the wardrobe was empty, Viserys turned his attention to Renly’s toybox. He pulled out the boxes of knights and carefully set them aside. _I wonder what else he’s been hiding from me?_

Renly came back from bringing his clothes down to his new room. "I can't sleep in there. There's no bed."

"You may have your mattress," Viserys said generously, examining a carved wooden horse, before tossing it over his shoulder.

"I need help," Renly said plaintively.

Viserys got up and went over to Renly and hit him again. "You don't deserve help. If you can’t move it by yourself, maybe you don’t really want it.”

“I do! I do!” 

“Do you need help, Renly?”

Renly glared at him, but he held his tongue. 

"No, my lord prince," he said.

Viserys smiled. "Good. Now take your mattress downstairs."

The only toys Viserys let Renly keep were his blocks. The knights were great toys, and he claimed them for himself. Everything else, including those stupid hobby horses, was gathered up to be given to the smallfolk. 

At last the room had been emptied of all personal belongings. It was ready now for a new guest, should they have one.

“And now, one last thing,” Viserys said. He quickly found the fool and led him to Renly’s new room. He opened the door without knocking to find Renly laying on his mattress, breathing heavily.

“My lord prince?” Renly said fearfully.

“You’re going to be locked in your room for a few days as punishment,” Viserys informed him. “I thought you might get lonely, so I brought Patchface.”

Renly suddenly looked scared. “No, that’s alright. I don’t want him in here.”

Viserys grinned broadly. “Too bad.”

Ser Alliser shoved Patchface into the closet and locked the door.

“Oh ho, oh ho, I know, I know. The dragon flies high in the sky, not down below, oh ho, oh ho.”

Renly screamed.


	19. Rhaegar VII

Though he could have commanded Lord Tywin come to him, Rhaegar thought it the politic thing to meet the man halfway. There was a small settlement where the gold road crossed the Blackwater Rush. The inn was called the Prancing Pony, a pretentious name that did not match the property.

Rhaegar had arrived a day before the appointed time, by design. He wanted to be the first person in the room. He wanted to be settled, calm, and waiting. It would help project the correct aura, regardless of the rude setting.

At last, the word came that riders approached bearing the gold lion on a red field. Rhaegar tried not to feel nervous.

_He must know why I have come. Surely he will not refuse. What would he do? Sulk in the Westerlands? He must re-engage the realm. I need him._ Rhaegar paused for a moment. _He must know that well. What if he_ does _refuse? What do I do then? Tremendous time to think of it! Have I so convinced myself of the logic of his acceptance that I misread the man? Suppose he does return to Casterly Rock? He may not close the goldroad, but he can certainly hole himself up at home. He must know I would not raise an army to root him out. The Rock has never fallen. Oh, Seven save me! How may I charm this deadly lion?_

Lord Tywin entered the room still wearing his travel cloak. He stiffly, properly, took a knee. “My prince,” he said, rising without permission.

Rhaegar let the insult go. “Welcome, my lord. Thank you for coming. Please, be seated. Will you take some refreshment?”

“Some wine, please.” He sat down in the proffered chair.

“A good ride?” He gestured to the serving girl to pour the wine. She filled both goblets with Arcian red.

“Indeed. The roads were clear and dry. I made good time.” He took a small sip of the wine and set the goblet down.

Lord Tywin was known as a man who appreciated directness, so Rhaegar decided to skip the meaningless chit-chat.

“My lord, I would invite you back to the king’s peace.”

Tywin raised one eyebrow. “I was not aware that I had left it.”

_Oh, he wants to banter, does he? Well, I suppose I can play this game with him._ “You sat neutral during Robert’s Rebellion. You did not aid the rebels, no, but neither did you oppose them. My royal father sent many ravens to Casterly Rock calling on you to raise your banners and march. Yet you remained in the west, behind the shelter of the mountains and the Golden Tooth. Failure to obey the commands of your king is a breach of the king’s peace.”

Lord Tywin’s face showed no malice, only matter-of-fact frankness. “No, I did not obey my orders to take my army east. Your royal father had dismissed me as his Hand, and I had no faith in those he had chosen to lead. He would not trust in me, so I saw no need to sacrifice my soldiers.”

_Not an unreasonable argument, I must admit. It matters not. The outcome was all we could have hoped it be._ “He is most put out with you. I understand your reasoning, and while I may not agree with it, the war is won.”

“Congratulations on your victory at the Trident,” Lord Tywin said. “From all reports, it was an epic battle.”

“I have been too busy to listen to the bards, my lord. It was muddy, bloody, and utterly exhausting. When I got the chance, I think I slept for a whole day.”

“Battle fatigue,” Lord Tywin said sagely.

“Indeed.”

“Robert Baratheon was a dangerous knight. Defeating him could have been no easy thing, under the best of circumstances. If you will allow me to say so, I am glad you did. I would not want a man of his appetites on the throne. The throne room would be filled with wenches and whores and men drinking too much ale and vomiting everywhere. I cared not for your royal father’s entertainments, but at least his court was not filled with howling barbarians.”

“Thank you, my lord. Now is the time to look to the future. I would invite you to make up for your absence by taking a leading role as we rebuild.”

“And what does your royal father say of this?”

“What my royal father says no longer concerns me, Lord Tywin.”

“I had heard rumors that you had deposed him. They are true then?”

“He has stepped aside for his own health. I have taken the mantle of Prince Regent and will rule as such until my father’s natural death.”

“His own health,” Lord Tywin repeated with a small smile. “Of course.”

“It is my destiny to put right the Seven Kingdoms. I have brought peace to the realm. Now I will restore prosperity. I ask for your help. Lord Tywin, I offer you the position for which you have demonstrated such aptitude. I would name you Hand of the King.”

The blond man nodded. “I have conditions.”

“I expected you would, my lord.”

“I want Jaime released from the Kingsguard.”

Rhaegar had been expecting that as well. “I must refuse you, my lord, but not of my will. Your son took a holy vow before the Seven. I cannot revoke that.”

Tywin smirked. “So I must take my case to the High Septon? Simplicity.”

“Moreover, he _is_ a true Kingsguard. He fought by my side at the Trident and slew many worthy foes.”

“He is the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms,” Tywin said proudly.

“I know in my soul that were it not for Jaime, I would not stand here with you. The bards are already singing of it. He will live forever in song, a hero of the realm.”

Tywin preened a bit at that pronouncement.

“I know my royal father has deprived you of your chosen heir. Let us talk on this matter. You have other children.”

“A daughter and a dwarf!” Tywin said contemptuously.

Rhaegar smiled. “In Dorne, a daughter may inherit before a son. You could make Cersei your heir.”

Tywin bristled. “No.”

“And your other son?”

“A dwarf?” he said with contempt so plain that further discussion was pointless.

“The only other option is to let your brother and his eldest son inherit.”

Tywin’s face might as well been carved of stone. “Never.”

“If not, then you must take another wife.”

Tywin scowled. “I want no wife.”

“You are a stubborn man, Lord Tywin. It seems all you will accept is Jaime as your heir.”

“I have been wronged. The wrong must be redressed.”

“We cannot undo what has been done. The Kingsguard serves for life.”

“I must have my heir.” Tywin ground his teeth. “Cersei?”

“Or a wife, if you would have a trueborn son.”

“Tyrion is my son,” Tywin said in an icy tone.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to imply otherwise. I meant a son who is not a dwarf.”

Tywin nodded, though he still looked ready to storm out of the meeting.

_On the subject of heirs, I wonder what he thinks._ “Prince Oberyn has demanded I make Rhaenys my heir in the Dornish fashion.”

“Outrageous. You will refuse.”

“It is the price of avoiding war with Dorne. I would avoid war with you as well, my lord. If you will not relent on the matter of Jaime, then there can no other destiny. The crown presently has disposition over a number of marriages thanks to the end of the war. One of them will surely be suitable.”

“Traitor’s daughters.”

“Some lords followed under duress. Lord Gulian Swann, for example. Robert threatened him with annihilation if he did not join up.”

“Then he should have died.”

“I know my father promised you absolute destruction when you did not march to the Trident. Should I kill you now for failing to obey him?”

“Is that a threat, Your Grace?”

“Just a question, my lord. My father ordered your death. I am inviting you back to governance of the realm. Robert threatened Lord Swann with death and ruin, but I sent his brother Ser Cyrian to Storm’s End to be castellan for my brother Viserys.”

“You accepted his story at face value?”

“Robert was a madman. He would crush all who would not support him.”

“Of course.”

“He also surrendered control over his daughter’s marriage. Perhaps you would like her.”

“You would honor the Swanns overmuch.”

“They are only an example. There are many other families to choose from. Lord Sweet has a number of daughters.”

Tywin grimaced. “I have little choice, it seems. I had thought to be done with the screaming of infants in the night.”

“I realize none of these choices is to your liking, my lord. You must make the best of it. Shall I decide for you? Perhaps you would like to draw lots.”

Lord Tywin glared at him. “I would appreciate if you would not mock me. Your father did so constantly. You ask me to make decisions that alter the course of my family’s destiny in mere moments.”

“My lord,” Rhaegar said dryly, “I know very well you have considered all of these questions, and others I haven’t even raised, a thousand times over. Jaime will continue to serve in the Kingsguard. What path do you choose from there?”

Tywin allowed a small smile. “I will take a wife and father a new heir.”

“Very good, my lord. Who do you have in mind?”

“It matters little,” Tywin said with a shrug. “Their purpose is to whelp the young. Women are all the same when they’re flat on their backs with their legs in the air.”

Rhaegar disagreed, but didn’t want to pick a fight with the man at the moment. “Shall I assume that you wish only daughters of lords who remained loyal to the crown?”

“Of course.”

“Perhaps Selyse Florent, the eldest daughter of Lord Ryam?”

“As it pleases, Your Grace. I will be sure to invite you.”

“Then the matter of your heir is settled. Are there other matters you wish to address?”

“My daughter. If I must take a wife, I must also have a match for Cersei.”

Rhaegar had considered this question. “Perhaps Edmure Tully?”

“A traitor’s son?” His tone spoke volumes.

“She is older than he. Surely she could bring him to a right way of thinking.”

A moment’s pause. “Surely we can do better.”

“If you would prefer a connection with those who stayed loyal, then perhaps Willas Tyrell? He is heir to Highgarden. Is that distinguished enough for you?”

“The Tullys were never kings. The Tyrells descend from caretakers,” Tywin said disdainfully. “Moreover, the boy is crippled. If he were suitable, he would be married already.”

Rhaegar tried to maintain a firm grip on his patience.

“My brother Viserys? He is founding a new branch of House Targaryen at Storm’s End.”

“Your royal brother is, perhaps, too young.”

“There are not many other options. Benjen Stark?”

Tywin leaned back in his chair. “Even younger than your royal brother. They are both at least ten years her junior.”

“I do not believe there are any other possibilities that you will accept, my lord.”

Lord Tywin drew his lips into a line. He huffed through his nose. “There are not. I turned down acceptable matches in hope of a match with you, but your father denied me. Then I had a dilemma.”

“My lord,” Rhaegar said dryly, “I have no intention of taking a third wife.”

“Perhaps you should. Your ancestors did. Perhaps one wife from each of the kingdoms.”

“The Faith had enough problems with Targaryens marrying their own blood and the occasional bit of polygamy. I do not believe they will accede to such a change.”

“Very well. If I cannot marry her to one prince, let it be another.”

“Done, then.”

“Done.”

“The wedding will take place in one month in King’s Landing.”

“Is that enough time to prepare?”

Rhaegar considered the magnitude of a royal wedding. “Two months?”

“Three, if we spend a lot of gold.”

“How urgent are you to see your daughter wed?”

“I have been trying to see it done for five years now.”

“So, three months it is.”

Lord Tywin smiled faintly again. “Done.”

“Any other conditions, my lord Hand?”

“Not at the moment. If I think of something, I will let you know.”

Rhaegar held out the badge of office. Tywin accepted it and pinned it to his cloak with practised ease. He went to one knee.

“I pledge my life and loyalty to you, Rhaegar of House Targaryen.”

“Rise, Lord Tywin, and serve your king.”


	20. Lyanna VII

The waiting was the hardest part. Lyanna was forced to sit and wait for the traitorous Vale lords to make their move.

“Thank you for your timely warning, Petyr,” Lyanna said gratefully. “If they had struck us unawares, they might have managed to pull it off.”

The young man bowed graciously, not betraying that he had recently suffered a grievous wound. “My princess, House Targaryen rules the Vale now. Most other lords of the Vale don’t seem to have grasped this truth. I said the words along with my father. I have never taken an oath to another. I am your man.”

He was not much of a man, if one were honest. He was small for fifteen years. Still, size was no indicator of merit. If his body was not developed, perhaps his brain was. “I have heard much about you. My ladies in waiting have told me much of your time at Riverrun.”

His face was placid, revealing nothing. _Now that is interesting. He either does not startle easily or he was expecting me to inquire._

“Tell me, Petyr, what do you have to say regarding the Tully daughters?”

Without hesitation, he said simply, “I love Catelyn.” He smiled tightly. “Since the moment I met her, I knew I wanted her. She never saw me as anything but a younger brother, but I constantly tried to win her heart.”

“And Lysa?”

Petyr sighed deeply. “Infatuated with me. She pursued me as I pursued Cat. I kissed her a fair amount as we grew up, but I only ever wanted Cat. When she was promised to Brandon Stark, I was filled with such rage. I challenged him, though he was older and more experienced at arms. Madness, I know, but love knows no restraint.”

“No,” Lyanna murmured.

His ears were sharp, for he heard her and met her eyes. “I had hoped that by my willingness to fight for her, she would see the true nature of my love, but she refused me her favor. I fought, and I lost. Stark spared my life and thought himself noble for it. Cat never came to see me as I recovered. Lysa cared for me, and in my weakness I succumbed to her charms again.”

“Again?”

“The night that Catelyn’s betrothal was announced, I danced with her six times. Each time I told her I loved her and that I didn’t want her to marry Brandon. I tried at last to kiss her, to tell her without words what my tongue wanted to say.” He sighed greatly. “She laughed at me. She pushed me away and she laughed at me.” He stared into his goblet for a long moment. “Then I got drunk. Very drunk. Ser Brynden had to carry me to my room. Despite that vast quantity of wine, I could not forget her laughter. I lay there, so far gone I was crying, and then the door opened. I thought it might be Cat at first, but it was Lysa. She asked if I needed anything. I was heartbroken, and she sought to comfort me. ‘You still have me, Petyr,’ she said. ‘I’m more fun than Cat anyway.’ She kissed me. Then she seduced me. Actually, there wasn’t much seduction involved. She started pulling off our clothes, and I was sober enough to claim her maidenhood.” He sighed again. “I was not sober enough not to murmur her sister’s name as I fell asleep.”

Lyanna blinked. “Any man who called me another woman’s name would die by my hand.”

He nodded, accepting the rebuke. “I wanted her to be Cat.”

“And you took her virtue, despite not being the woman you love?”

“Lysa never had much virtue,” Petyr offered. “She’s always been very eager to play around.”

Lyanna paused for a moment, digesting all she had heard. “You speak against yourself.”

“I speak the truth.” 

“Do you know you left her with child?”

Now he did react. His pupils dilated, his breath grew short, and he looked like one could knock him over with a feather.

“No,” he whispered. He looked up at her, his face filled with joy. “A boy or a girl? What is its name?”

Lyanna’s heart dropped into her stomach. _For all his faults, he is happy at this news. Now I must hurt him so._

“Lord Hoster forced Lysa to drink Moon Tea. Do you know what that is?”

He did.

She saw his whole world shatter. Moments ago he hadn’t even known he was a father. Now he broke like any other parent. He crumpled to the floor, not crying but shaking with grief, his hands clenching and unclenching the empty air.

She went to him, forgetting that she was a princess. She held him tightly, stroking his hair, and rubbing his back.

When he calmed, she released him, and he averted his eyes. “Forgive my weakness, my princess.”

“It is no weakness to have a heart, Petyr,” she said gently. “Love is the only thing we truly have worth living for.”

He cleared his throat and returned to his story. “Lord Hoster sent me away as soon as I had healed enough to travel. I came home and recovered in time to help my father recover from his own injuries.” The young man shrugged. “Now we are here, at your command, my princess.”

She thought on that for a moment. “Lord Hoster refused you his daughter’s hand because of your low station. You have done me a great service by exposing those who would kidnap Lady Alyssa. I shall have to come up with some suitable reward. Some lands of your own, perhaps.”

Petyr’s eyes gleamed. “Thank you, my princess.”

At that moment, the door to the hall opened, and Lyanna had to keep a neutral face as Ser Arthur and some knights forced Lord Redfort, Lord Belmore, and Lord Hunter to their knees. 

“An ill-conceived plan, my lords,” she said, all the ice of the North frosting her tone. “How did you hope to get out of the castle? Where did you plan to go?”

Another group of knights forced a struggling Ser Nestor to the floor.

Lyanna fought back a smirk. “Ah. I see. Welcome, Ser Nestor.”

Lord Redfort sighed deeply. “We are undone, my lords. Let us admit our deeds without shame. Either way we have lost.”

“Well spoken, my lord,” Lyanna said. “Would you care to give me the details?”

“We were to bring Lady Alyssa and baby Sarrah to the postern gate. Ser Nestor was to arrange for it to be unguarded. Then we would proceed with all haste to Redfort. It is the closest of our holdings.”

“To what end?” Lyanna demanded sharply. “Did you hope to rally the Vale and drive me out? Surely you must know the entirety of the royal army would come to crush you.”

“I had great debt before the fighting broke out, and I borrowed additional sums to outfit my soldiers. Had we won,” Redfort trailed off with a shrug. “But we lost and we are punished. My losses have been too grievous. I cannot recover. Half my lands and incomes are gone. The rest will be devoured by my debts. I had little to lose.”

_Lose it, you shall._ “What did you hope to gain?”

He sighed greatly. “In truth, I cannot say. Perhaps I still would have wound up an exile in the Free Cities.”

Lyanna suppressed a sigh of her own. She could not show her emotions. She needed to be strong. “Who else was involved?”

“Only us, Princess,” Lord Belmore said quietly. He had not raised his eyes from the floor. “We tried to gain further support but were rebuffed.”

_Thank the gods!_ “At least some of the lords of the Vale have learned their lesson about challenging the will of the dragon.” _What will it take for you to understand? Do I even care anymore if you do? How many chances must I give you?_

Lord Hunter broke down in tears. “I don’t want to burn,” he sobbed.

Lyanna let it go on, for she noticed how bothered the other conspirators were by his loss of nerve. Ser Nestor broke out into a sweat.

“That’s enough,” she said at last. Hunter fell silent immediately. She tapped her fingers together. “What shall I do with you?”

“I would take the black,” Lord Redfort said at once.

Ser Nestor nodded eagerly. “Yes, the Night’s Watch. I will join as well.”

Lyanna considered it. The Watch was always in need of good men. It was always in need of any men. All crimes were forgiven once a man took the oath, but- “How could the Watch trust two known oathbreakers?”

Redfort paled. “Princess, my oath of allegiance was to the House of Arryn. Lady Alyssa and baby Sarrah are the last of that house.”

“Lady Alyssa released you from that oath,” Lyanna reminded him. “You made a new oath to House Targaryen of the Eyrie, and within hours you have violated it. Why should I trust that you will keep the oath of the Watch?”

“To desert means death.”

She chewed her lip for a moment before turning to her knights. “Take these three to the dungeons. Find out if they truly acted alone.”

“Yes, my princess.” They led the humbled lords out of the room.

Lyanna glared at Ser Nestor. “You will not be going to the Wall, ser. I offered you that choice once before, and you refused it. That privilege is reserved for young Robar, Waymar, and Albar.”

Ser Nestor was pale as a sheet now. He was visibly trembling. “Princess, my action was taken in a moment of weakness. I accept my just punishment, but please spare the children. They knew nothing of this.”

Lyanna was not feeling merciful. She had allowed this man to raise his brother’s children, and this was how he showed his gratitude to her? “House Royce has proven false in two branches. Your lands and castle are forfeit. You will die in the morning. The three boys will go to the Wall.”

The knight bowed his head. “I accept our punishment, my princess. And the girls? Yohn’s daughter Ysilla and my sweet Myranda? They are only two years old.”

_I will raise them to love the dragon, something you could not do, ser._ “I will take them as my wards. Your wife and Yohn’s widow will remain here to rear them.”

He nodded. “Please do not turn your vengeance on them. They knew nothing,” he insisted.

“Take him to the dungeons,” she ordered. The knights took him away, leaving Lyanna in the throne room with Petyr, and Ser Arthur. When the doors closed, she finally unclenched.

Petyr said, “If you would prove yourself to King Aerys, my princess, then you must be as ruthless as a Targaryen. You must be the ice dragon. Execute them all.”

“He is right, my princess,” agreed Ser Arthur. “You must make an example of them. If you do not, others will think you weak and plot against you.”

“I know,” Lyanna said, gesturing to her cup bearer to bring her a glass of wine. “I just didn’t think I would do this so soon. I didn’t count on it being so many.”

Ser Arthur shook his head. “King Aerys, in his mercy, spared them. They spurned his mercy and chose this fate for themselves.”

“His Grace is not well-known for mercy,” Petyr observed. “Only a fool rejects such a rare gift.”

“What of Redfort’s claim of great debt?”

“Absurd,” Petyr scoffed at once. “My princess, even the most meager amount of gold or silver, even copper, can grow. Any who cannot manage it do not deserve to manage money at all.”

“Is this one of your skills, Petyr?”

He smirked and fingered the collar of his tunic. “My father didn’t pay for this.”

She took a second look at him. He was wearing exceptionally fine clothing, much better than a boy from the Fingers ought to have.

“I see,” she said thoughtfully. She sat and pondered the question for what felt like an eternity. She knew in her heart what her father would do, and she knew it had to be done. “Very well. I will not send known oathbreakers to the Wall. Ser Arthur, I will have need of you in the morning.”

“I will be ready, my princess.”


	21. Viserys VII

“My lord prince, I have joyous news,” Maester Cressen said one morning as he arrived at breakfast. “Your brother has arranged for your marriage.”

“Mawwidge?” Viserys said around a mouthful of eggs and bacon.

“Yes. Lord Tywin Lannister has been reappointed as Hand of the King. You will marry his daughter Cersei in three months time.”

“Cersei Lannister?” Viserys had heard Rhaegar mention her before. “Isn’t she wicked old?”

Maester Cressen clucked reprovingly. “She is a lovely maid of seventeen years.”

“That’s so amazingly old. Why do I have to get married? I’m only seven.”

“I know not, my lord prince.”

“Do I really have to?” He tried not to whine.

“Yes, you really do. Tis for the future of the realm.”

Viserys huffed and pouted about that for a few moments, but he knew he would do his duty. _Rhaegar needs me to do this._ “Is she any fun?”

“What do you mean, my lord prince?”

“What games does she like to play? Will she be able to keep up with us when we’re running all around? Girls are delicate, I hear. What if she gets hurt?”

“My lord prince, the risk of hurt is inherent through life, but I do not believe she will have much time for games. She will have many responsibilities as the Lady of Storm’s End.”

Viserys couldn’t believe that he had to get married. He couldn’t believe that Rhaegar had said so.

The wedding would take place in the Great Sept of Baelor in three months. It was going to be dreadfully formal and probably not at all fun.

_I wonder how much wine they’ll let me have. It’s traditional to drink many toasts at a wedding._

“There is more news.” The maester turned to Ser Cyrian. “It seems Lady Jeyne has been promised to Lord Lyn Corbray.”

Ser Cyrian blanched. “So soon?”

“Apparently so. She is to depart with all haste for Gulltown where an honor guard will escort her to the Gates of the Moon.”

“I thought House Corbray’s seat was Heart’s Home.”

“You are correct, ser. Princess Lyanna has called her lords to court to swear their vows of fealty, and there are going to be a number of weddings.”

“How wonderful,” he said.

Jeyne was very pale, and she was biting her lip. She pushed her chair back and stood up. “Excuse me, please, my lord prince. If I am to journey, I will need to pack. If I am to marry, I must write home to mother.”

Viserys frowned as she hurried from the hall. _Something is wrong. I don’t know how I know, but I know._ He rose and followed her, Ser Alliser hastily wiping his mouth and grabbing his swordbelt to accompany him.

She hadn’t made it very far. He found her collapsed in a heap on the stairs. Sobs wracked her shoulders, and every so often she let out a hiccup.

“Lady Jeyne, are you alright?”

She yelped, quickly rubbing at her eyes with a dainty bit of cloth. “Oh! My lord prince, you startled me.”

“Why are you crying?”

She kept her eyes downcast. “It’s nothing, my lord prince. Merely a womanly weakness. Pay it no mind.”

“Bollocks,” Viserys said rudely. “There’s always a reason why a woman cries. My brother told me so. I may not understand the reason, but there is one. Tell me. I command it.”

She flushed. “Yes, my lord prince. I cry because I do not wish to marry a man about whom I know nothing.”

“That makes sense. I don’t know anything about him myself, but I’m sure someone here does. You should come to know him. I am certain that my goodsister Lyanna would not have arranged the match unless it was a good one. Lord Lyn is being rewarded for loyalty to the dragon, and such men cannot be bad.”

Jeyne smiled slightly. “Thank you, my lord prince. You are very kind to concern yourself with my well-being.”

“Ser Alliser, do you know Lord Lyn?”

His sworn shield was only too pleased to tell them about Jeyne’s match.

“Lyn Corbray is the second son of the late Lord Loras. He was a guest of Lord Marq Grafton when Lord Jon Arryn called his banners, and Lord Marq refused. Lord Jon made to compel him, and it is called the Battle of Gulltown. Lyn fought for Lord Marq, despite his father and brothers fighting under the falcon banner. He earned knighthood for his valor, though he was taken prisoner. He was compelled to join his father, and he fought at the Trident with great honor. He took up the family sword when his father fell, leading his men to hold the line. He slew Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard.”

“He is truly a mighty knight,” Jeyne said, “but what manner of man is he? How does he treat his servants? Does he drink excessively and become violent? Will he love me or am I just a means to bring his heir into the world?”

“My lady, Lord Lyn is a gentleman. He is known as a courteous and properly deferential person who has never been heard to speak in anger to anyone.”

Jeyne mulled this revelation for a few long moments. “Thank you, Ser Alliser. It helps to know that others think well of him. You said he is the second son. Is his brother dead then? Was he killed during the war?”

“No, my lady. Ser Lyonel is presently a guest of the crown. King Aerys granted Heart’s Home to Lyn.”

Lady Jeyne’s eyes widened slightly. “Lord Lyn has King Aerys’ favor?”

“Indeed, my lady. When he received word that Lord Jon had been killed, he immediately surrendered to royalist forces. He was a rebel only by circumstance. Once he had his choice, he chose the dragon.”

“His loyalty to the Iron Throne is most admirable.” She smiled and gazed up in wonderment. “If he would defy his father for his king, what lengths will he go to for me?”

Jeyne left in a much better mood, and Viserys went to go find Renly and the others. 

Once he had been released from confinement in his new room, Renly had been a completely different boy. He was eager to participate in every game. He trained harder and longer than every other boy. He even managed to earn a grunt of approval from Ser Alliser and avoided being overly berated for a whole session.

Viserys was proud of his friend’s progress. He hadn’t mentioned his old life in weeks. He had discovered a ravenous appetite and was starting to resemble a boy instead of a corpse. They had adventures in the woods, hunting for imaginary bandits, 

One day they hunted for real bandits. Some of Viserys’ smallfolk came to the castle and told a tale of raiders who had carried off women and rustled some sheep. They pleaded for justice, and Viserys was moved by their plight.

“We will not suffer bandits or thieves in the Stormlands,” he declared. “Ser Richard, assemble a hundred men. We will root out these cowards who would prey upon decent folk. 

The commander of his garrison said, “Yes, my lord prince.”

He turned to the villagers. “I will stamp out these raiders. You have the word of Viserys Targaryen.”

“Thank you, m’lord prince! Thank you!”

Assembling a hunting party took little more than an hour. Viserys was filled with pride as he beheld them all in their shining plate with their fierce weapons.

“This is going to be great. Isn’t it, Renly?”

“Yes, my lord prince. It will be wonderful. Will we get to fight any bandits?”

“No,” Ser Alliser said sharply. “You will not be carrying live steel, Ser Fawn.”

Renly scowled darkly.

“What about me, Ser Alliser?” Viserys asked.

“You may carry a dagger. Should I fall to an enemy blade, you will have means to defend yourself.”

“Is that likely to happen?” Renly said, turning to Viserys with an anxious expression.

“Not at all,” Viserys said confidently. “Ser Alliser is one of the most skilled knights in the Seven Kingdoms. He will protect us well.”

“Thank you, my lord prince!” Ser Alliser said.

Viserys turned to the men. “A bounty! Ten gold dragons to each man who brings me a bandit’s head!” They roared in approval, and Viserys grinned madly. “Let’s go!”

He paid out a hundred and fifty dragons in the end. The bandits were nothing more than some local layabouts who had decided that they didn’t care to do honest work for a living. This had been their first foray, and it would be their last. Though he didn’t get too near the action, Viserys felt his blood ringing as he watched his men -- _his men!_ \-- cut down the scoundrels.

They rode triumphantly back to Storm’s End, and Viserys was in high spirits. The other boys were eager to hear about their adventure, so Viserys began to tell the tale. He described easily ten times as many sword strokes and a hundred more wounds were taken by these more numerous and more dangerous bandits. Renly contributed a few details when prompted, but he mostly let Viserys do the talking.

A few days later they went back into the forest to hunt for stag. Viserys was craving some venison, and he was still bouncing off the walls from the elimination of the bandits. Renly managed to trip down the stairs and twist his ankle. Maester Cressen chided him gently for being careless, wrapped up the ankle with sturdy cloth, and sent him to his bed.

“But I’ll miss the hunt!” he cried.

“There, there, Renly,” Viserys said soothingly. “There will be other hunts.”

“I know, but I wanted to go on this one.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Viserys said magnanimously.

He ended up inviting Beric to go on the hunt with him. The other boy rode well, and they were there when Duglass the bowman put an arrow through the stag’s eye. It dropped instantly, killed at once. They had a very messy time learning how to clean and dress the carcass. Viserys was fascinated with the bright red blood and how it dripped off his fingertips.

Things had settled into a pleasant routine when the first act of sabotage happened. One morning, a servant came into the great hall and whispered with Ser Cyrian. The castellan grew pale, and he leaned toward Viserys.

“It seems there’s been some trouble. Someone got into the storeroom last night and cut open some sacks of grain. It spilled everywhere and is spoiled.”

“You are certain?”

“It was not rodents or a natural tear. The gashes were too neat to be anything other than the work of a knife.”

Viserys tamped down a flare of anger. _Someone is trying to wake the dragon. They will not be happy should they succeed._

“Have the guards who were on duty whipped. That will teach them to be derelict in their duties.”

A couple of days later there was another incident, one that had the men considerably more upset. The ale casks had been drained, and there was only water or wine available for several days.

Ser Cyrian doubled the guard patrols and grimly reported that his investigation had so far turned up empty.

The gardens were torn up soon after. All of the new plants were destroyed.

Viserys was not pleased, but he didn’t have to wait very long for a bit of satisfaction. He arrived at Ser Cyrian’s office one morning for his lesson to find the castellan cleaning up papers and broken crockery and damaged plants.

“Excuse me, my lord prince. It seems our saboteur is branching out.”

“Still no progress?”

“Regrettably none, my lord prince.”

It seemed that they had a Baratheon loyalist, for the next night, several dragon banners were sliced into ribbons. The destruction of his new heraldry infuriated Viserys. He loved his golden dragon. _When we find whoever is doing this, he will see_ my _dragon._

Ser Alliser made a breakthrough a few days later.

Viserys and Renly were coming from sword practice with Ser Bertram, who had taken over the lessons from Ser Alliser as he assisted Ser Cyrian in the investigation.

Ser Alliser and a dozen men had another man lashed to a pole across his shoulders and were leading him in by a rope around his neck. When they reached the courtyard, the man stumbled forward, and they kicked his knees out from under him. He crashed to the ground, struggling to lift his face from the dirt.

"My prince!" Ser Alliser called to Viserys. "We have found the culprit."

"Hooray!" Viserys ran past Renly. "Will he be punished now? How will he be punished? I want him to burn!"

"Soon, my prince."

The man tied to the pole was Donal Noye, the one-armed blacksmith. The other boys crowded around Viserys eagerly, curious to see what punishment would be meted out.

“How did you discover the truth, Ser Alliser?” asked Ser Cyrian.

“I overheard the blacksmith asking the maester about fixing the gate of the keep. No one is supposed to know that it was damaged. Only someone who knows things he shouldn’t would be interested in the gate.”

“This is hardly proof of sabotage.”

“I saw him at the scene of every act, even when he had no business being out of the forge.”

“Again, not proof. These incidents draw everyone’s attention.”

“He’s one of the only Baratheon men still alive. Nobody else would have motivation.”

Ser Cyrian sighed greatly. “I admit, the evidence seems to point to the blacksmith, but there is no proof.” He turned to Viserys. “My lord prince, this man may be guilty, or he may be innocent. I cannot let you burn him. To pass a sentence of death without certainty is an affront to the Seven.”

“Then he shall have a trial by combat!” Ser Alliser declared.

“My lord prince,” Noye begged. “I am no warrior, and I have but one arm.”

“There simply is not enough evidence, my lord prince,” Ser Cyrian said.

“He’s guilty. We all know he’s guilty. He’s Stannis’ man,” Ser Alliser insisted.

Viserys thought hard. This was important. This was a princely decision. He needed to get it right for his father. King Aerys was counting on him to rule the Stormlands well.

“No, Ser Alliser, he is right. Without proof, we must not do anything severe. The dragon can also be merciful. Donal Noye, I offer you a chance to confess. If you admit your guilt, I promise I will not kill you. If you are innocent, then say so. Are you the saboteur?”

Noye hesitated. “I am not.”

“Do you know who it is?”

Noye hesitated again. “No, I do not.”

Viserys didn’t like those pauses. “Twenty lashes.”

He cried out at the fifth stroke. His back was a bloody mess when they were done. He was barely conscious.

Viserys found himself grinning. _Justice is intoxicating._

The incidents stopped after that, and Viserys felt confident that either Noye had been guilty or the real culprit had been scared off.

Everything was just peachy until there was a tremendous commotion a few nights later. Viserys woke up to the guards yelling. He threw on his dressing gown and hurried to see what was happening. _Are we under attack?_

The guards led him to the great hall. Up on the wall, his magnificent tapestry was covered in mud. The glorious gold dragon was barely even visible. He screamed, roaring his dragon’s rage.

"What's going on? What's happened to my tapestry?" His castellan was there, looking weary. "Ser Cyrian! How did this happen? That man was whipped. Why--" Then his gaze fell on Renly, who was covered in mud. He glanced up at the tapestry, which was covered in mud. There could be no question of his guilt. "W-Why? Renly, why?"

Anger flooded Renly’s face, and his mouth twisted into a snarl. "Because I hate you!" he screamed, clenching his fists. "I fucking hate you! I hate all of you!" 

_He hates me? But he said he was my friend. We had all those adventures. We had all that fun before the others came. He was lying to me the whole time? He hates me?_

Viserys started to cry. He collapsed on the floor and bawled his eyes out. When his tears ran out, he became extremely angry.

“I want his fucking HEAD!!” he screamed. “I want his head cut off, mounted on a spike above the gates, and I want his body burned with wildfire! My tapestry! That miserable, traitorous, poisonous, bastard stag-fucker! They worked so HARD on it! How dare he ruin it?! We were good to him! We fed him! We clothed him! We chose not to execute him out of hand, and THIS is how he repays me? Ser Alliser, why aren’t you killing him already?!”

“Yes, my lord prince!”

“Halt, Ser Alliser!” ordered the castellan.

“I don’t take orders from you, Swann.”

“Prince Rhaegar sent me here to be the responsible adult. That includes not allowing you to murder a child for what is ultimately malicious mischief.”

“Mischief? The prince’s tapestry is destroyed. We’re probably lucky he was too stupid to think to light it with a torch or the whole castle might be ablaze now. We could all be dead, and you call that just a prank? Stand aside, Swann. I’ve tolerated your soft touch with the brat for long enough.”

“Is this the honor of the Kingsguard, then? Is the white cloak dipped in the blood of children?”

Ser Alliser snarled. “I’ve had about all I’m going to take from you, Swann.”

“You are but one man, ser, mighty though you may be.”

“You think the guards are really going to side with you?”

“I bear Prince Rhaegar’s writ.”

“Do you carry that thing everywhere you go? Let me show you exactly what I think of that.”

Ser Alliser reached over, pulled the scroll from Ser Cyrian’s hands, and tore it in two.

“Fuck your piece of parchment. Prince Viserys rules here. You’re nothing but a glorified accountant.”

Ser Alliser gestured to the guards, and four of them seized Cyrian’s arms.

“Take him to the dungeon.” He considered the castellan critically. “Make it a dry cell.”

Ser Cyrian did not struggle or shout as he was led away.

“Now, my lord prince, let us get on with beheading the traitor.”

Ser Alliser’s words jangled in Viserys’ imagination. “No, Ser Alliser, I’ve thought of something better. We shouldn’t kill Renly. He must be punished. How else will he learn? The time has come to bring him to King’s Landing to look at his traitor brother’s head. Once he truly understands what it means to rise against the dragon, he will renounce his brothers’ ways. Renly doesn’t want to be a traitor. He’s just too loyal to his brothers. I understand him. I know why. After their parents died, his brothers were all he had. So when they told him that Targaryens are bad and they needed to rebel, he went along with it because he loved and trusted them. He needs to see that they didn’t do good. They didn’t do the right thing. They only caused strife and pain to the realm.”

“I don’t get to kill the brat?”

“No, Ser Alliser. Go and pack. We leave for King’s Landing as soon as possible. Let Ser Cyrian out of the dungeon. He’ll need to coordinate everything.”


	22. Rhaegar VIII

When Rhaegar entered the small council chamber, he found them assembled and waiting for him. The Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister, sat at the head of the table. Grand Maester Pycelle sat to his left, his many chains clinking with his every movement. Lord Jon Connington sat as Master of Laws. Lord Aerryk Dayne was his Master of Coin. Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers, who had proven himself so useful with his little birds. Lord Paxter Redwyne, the new Master of Ships, looked a bit nervous to be sitting at this table, and he sipped frequently from his goblet of wine. Lastly there was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower, whose familiar presence was a comfort to the Prince Regent.

“What business, my lord Hand?”

“At present, we are discussing how extravagant the royal wedding shall be.”

“I recommend austerity, my lords. While it is true that in ordinary times an event such as this becomes a monument to magnificence, the realm is recovering from war. To spend so lavishly when there are such pressing needs seems to me to be the height of irresponsibility.”

“The treasury still overflows with gold,” Lord Jon protested.

“For now, my lord,” Lord Aerryk replied. “It will not be the case in a year. Tax revenues will be down for the near future while crops are replanted.”

“My daughter will not well receive any suggestions of simplicity, Your Grace.”

“You will have to explain it to her, my lord Hand.”

“May I designate Your Grace for that unpleasant task?” Lord Tywin asked with a slight grimace.

Rhaegar chuckled. “You may make her as radiant as you like, but the feast must be the model of restraint.”

“As you command, Your Grace.”

“What other business?”

Lord Tywin shuffled his papers. “There has been a report from Lord Commander Qorgyle at Castle Black. The prisoners have arrived.”

“Don’t you mean the new recruits, my lord Hand?” Lord Aerryk said with a chuckle.

The Lord of Casterly Rock was stony-faced. “Until they say their vows, they are prisoners still. Any who do not say their vows will be executed.” His voice relaxed. “Lord Qorgyle has sent a requisition.”

“Send whatever he asks for,” Rhaegar ordered. “Send half again as much. The Watch must remain strong.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Speaking of rebels, Lord Jon, please tell the council what you told me about Stannis Baratheon.”

They stirred slightly at the name. “Yes, Your Grace. While I was in exile with the Golden Company, I ran into a man in Volantis who called himself Lyonel Storm. I recognized him immediately as Stannis Baratheon, though he knew me not. He was missing four fingers from his right hand. He’d learned to fight somewhat with his left and was looking to sign up. He did, and I tried to learn his story. He ran off when exposed.”

Lord Varys said, “What would Your Grace like to do about him? There is still a price on his head.”

“Right now Stannis is wanted dead?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar remembered the last time he had seen Stannis, at a tourney at Storm’s End that Lord Robert had held in their father’s name soon after his death at sea. Stannis had been a lad of thirteen years, just starting to come into his big frame, and eating everything in sight. He was a page in service of Lord Lyonel Selmy, though he’d been released to attend on his brother. He’d had a hard face, even then. Stannis never laughed and rarely smiled.

“Modify that to dead or alive. Double if he’s alive. I’d like to give him a chance to recant his treason.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Lord Tywin did not approve. Anyone could tell from a mere glance at his face.

Ser Gerold cleared his throat. “Your Grace, there is a need to appoint two new knights to the Kingsguard.”

Rhaegar nodded. “Ser Barristan’s legend ended far too soon. They are already singing songs about him. By the Seven,” he swore, “I still can’t believe he is gone. He seemed invincible.”

“Prince Lewyn is a great loss as well,” Lord Tywin noted. “Prince Oberyn left with his bones this morning.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how to replace such men.”

“Surely there were heroes made at the Trident?” Lord Jon commented.

“Heroes, aye,” said Ser Gerold, “but the white cloak is about more than prowess in battle. To find such worthy knights takes time.”

Rhaegar knew that restoring the Kingsguard was important, but all the worthy knights he knew were entrusted with various assignments in the far-flung corners of the realm. “Have you any thoughts, Lord Commander?”

“I can provide a list to Your Grace by the end of the day.”

“Good. That will be a place to start, I suppose. My lords, if you have any contenders, make them known to me. Next?”

“That is all I had, Your Grace,” Lord Tywin said.

The meeting concluded shortly thereafter. Rhaegar went to the royal apartments to see his family. It had been too long since he’d had a properly lengthy visit with his children.

The maid answered the door and bowed. “Oh, Your Grace! Please come in! Let me pour you some wine. Princess Elia is resting at the moment. I’ll just go see if she’s awake.”

“Do not wake her on my account. If she sleeps, then let her sleep. I will see her anon.”

The girl slipped into the next room, and Rhaegar heard a door open softly. A few moments later, she returned.

“Princess Elia will see you. Please give her some time to make herself presentable.”

“She needs but a moment,” he declared.

She took only minutes.

“Hello, Rhaegar,” Elia said coolly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

He stood to greet her. “Hello, Elia. I have news of import. Where are the children?”

“They are with your mother. I swear, she has more energy than they do these days. She’s started to show.”

“How wonderful,” Rhaegar said with a smile. “A new sibling. More Targaryens. I feel that this is good, necessary.”

“Why, Rhaegar?”

“I wish I knew, Elia. I swear by the old gods and the new that I would tell you if I knew. I must consult further with Uncle Aemon, but I cannot leave King’s Landing.”

“You know only that something awful approaches.”

He nodded. “The prophecies speak of the return of night. What night can it be but the Long Night?”

“Perhaps a significant Night now lost to history.”

“A thought that has crossed my mind more than once,” Rhaegar affirmed. “I can only hope that the tale has survived and that we have presumed correctly.”

“A gamble.”

“Indeed. Yet the risk of doing nothing is even greater.”

Elia reached for her water. “Perhaps. I have been studying High Valyrian with Grand Maester Pycelle. I would like to read these prophecies for myself.”

“Of course, Elia. I would be pleased to share it with you.”

She nodded, satisfied with his response. She turned towards the other room. “Children! Your father is here.”

“Father!” Rhaenys was a blur as she ran to him.

He reached down and lifted her up in a great bear hug. He squeezed her tightly, filling his nostrils with the soft gentleness of her smell. His cares dropped away, and he wanted nothing but to hold this little girl forever.

“Hello, sweetheart. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too, Father. Will you stay?”

“Yes, I’m here to spend time with you and then see you off to bed.”

“Yay!” Aegon tottered into the room and collapsed. He began to babble, and Rhaegar’s heart melted again.

“Come here, big boy,” he said, gently setting Rhaenys on her feet and going to his son. “You’ve grown another few inches since the other day, I swear it.”

“He has at least gained a few ounces,” Elia said, smiling at them.

Rhaegar’s heart ached. _I have missed her smile. I have seen it too infrequently, and I have only myself to blame._ Rhaegar looked over and saw his mother standing in the doorway.

“Children, I have important news.”

“What is it, Father?”

“Rhaenys, you shall be my heir.”

“I thought that was Aegon. He’s a boy.”

“That is how it used to be. Things have changed. You are my eldest child. You should be my heir. You will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms after I am gone.”

Elia’s face was unreadable. So was his mother’s, for that matter.

“Wow, Queen,” Rhaenys said, her eyes going wide.

“You must rule wisely and well.”

“I will, Father. I promise.” She threw her arms around him, and he hugged her close one more time. “Come play with me.”

He could not refuse her.

When the children were tired out, fed, bathed, read a story, and put to bed, Rhaegar sat down with his wife and mother for a glass of wine.

“Let me guess,” Elia said. “That was Oberyn’s idea.”

Rhaegar nodded. “Your brother was most affronted by my behavior.”

“I may have said a few things to him in anger,” she admitted.

“I don’t think it was needed. He said many things to me. I feel as though I understand a bit more now how I have hurt you.”

She nodded. “Go on.”

“I cannot undo the wrong. I can only redress it. Tomorrow at court, I will dissolve this fiction that my father is still the king. I will ascend the throne properly, and I will name you Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

She liked that idea, he could tell. His mother nodded approvingly.

“You are my wife, and I should have turned to you with my fears and worries about the prophecies. I should have tried to make you understand the need for more Targaryens. I apologize for not bringing Lyanna to you and asking for your blessing. I shut you out, and that was wrong of me. You are my wife, and I did not respect you.”

With his every word, he could see her mood improve.

“I know that I ask a great deal when I ask you to forgive me. I hope that our story is not over, that we can write a new chapter. I love you, Elia. I realize it at last. You are more than just a suitable match. You are the mother of my children, and you mean everything to me. You should be my confidant, my counselor, and my friend.”

Her hard expression shattered. “Oh Rhaegar, I do forgive you. I want us to be a family again, for true. We can conquer this challenge. We must, if these dark portents come to pass.”

She embraced him, and for the first time she relaxed into his arms. She had always held something back. Now she seemed to want to merge their flesh.

“Mother, you have said little.” Rhaegar knew that she had not wanted to draw attention to herself.

“I had thought the question of succession to be settled. You invite another Dance.”

“In the Stormlands, Viserys will marry Cersei Lannister. Ser Jamie tells me she is a strong-willed woman. I believe she will have a larger role in governance of that kingdom than traditionally accorded. In the Vale, Lyanna will rule until Jon comes of age, and she has told me of the women of House Mormont. They are fiercely independent and train for war along with their men. Dorne, of course, is Dorne. That is three of the seven kingdoms. If half of what I have heard about the Lady Olenna Tyrell is true, the Reach is already run by a woman. It will not take much to make the North the same way. We will marry Edmure Tully to a strong woman from a loyal house, and Lord Darry is loyal to the will of the dragon.”

“An ambitious plan,” Rhaella noted. “How will you convert the Westerlands?”

“Lord Tywin did refuse to make Lady Cersei his heir. He will resist this progressive idea. It may take a few generations.”

She smiled. “I knew my son would change the world.”


	23. Lyanna VIII

Lyanna stepped out into the brisk morning air and inhaled deeply. She could smell the snow on the mountain peaks, and it reminded her of home.

_Winterfell. Will I ever see you again?_

She made her way down the stairs, taking each step deliberately. Behind her, instead of her ladies in waiting, there was only Petyr Baelish. In the yard below, Ser Arthur stood with Ser Martyn, commander of her garrison, with many knights and men at arms standing at attention. All of her lords had been woken and invited to join her, and it seemed none had dared to refuse.

“Bring them out,” she ordered.

Four men emerged from the dungeons. They stood blinking in the sudden light. Then the guards prodded them with the butts of their spears. They moved towards the yard where Lyanna stood.

“Lord Benedar Belmore, Lord Horton Redfort, Lord Eon Hunter, and Ser Nestor Royce,” she said, her voice loud in the stillness of the morning. “You were released from your vow of allegiance to House Arryn. You swore a new oath to my son, Prince Jon Targaryen. All the lords of Dragonvale were witness to it. Yet within hours, you conspired to steal Lady Alyssa Arryn and baby Sarrah away. You were caught in the act and confessed all. You are all eager to take the black, and indeed you would be among your rebel friends at the Wall, but I will not send known oathbreakers to defend the realm against the wildlings.”

Ser Nestor hung his head low, and Lyanna knew that he was cursing himself for going along with the desperate plan. Now House Royce had lost everything.

"In the name of Aerys of the House Targaryen, the Second of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Lyanna of the House Stark, Lady of Dragonvale, Regent to Jon of the House Targaryen, Prince of the Eyrie and Protector of Dragonvale, I do sentence you all four to die."

She gestured at Lord Redfort, and he was dragged over to the headsman’s block.

Ser Arthur stepped forward, but she waved him back and beckoned Petyr forward. He held up a bundle of wolfskins, and with a pure, sweet, ringing note she pulled Ice from its sheath.

The dark, smoky blade would have been impossible for her to lift were it not Valyrian steel. The greatsword was as tall as herself.

Ser Arthur’s eyes opened wide. “My princess?”

“The one who passes the sentence should swing the sword. That’s what my father always said. He made my brothers go and watch him do justice once they turned seven or so. I didn’t get to go, so I snuck along anyway when it was Ned’s time. Most women would have looked away, but I watched, the same as Ned.”

She raised up the sword in both hands. She focused all her attention on Lord Redfort’s neck. With a deep breath, she slashed downward as hard as she could.

The blade passed through his neck without pause and buried itself in the headsman’s block. His head rolled, and bright red blood spurted from the stump.

She couldn’t pull the sword out of the block by herself. Ser Arthur came up to help her, and this time she welcomed his presence. He dragged the headless body away.

She pointed at Lord Belmore. Her knights frog-marched him to the block. He knelt and placed his head in position, flinching as his cheek touched the wet blood.

Lyanna raised her father’s sword once more and decapitated another traitor. His body started twitching, and her stomach roiled.

Lord Hunter broke down weeping and started begging for his life and for mercy.

“Mercy, my lord?” she repeated incredulously. “This is the mercy of the North, a quick death. King Aerys would have fed you to the flames.”

The guards had to restrain him, for he began to struggle. With a strong punch to the guts, the fight went out of him. With a swing of the sword, the life went out of him too.

With three lords executed, she turned to Ser Nestor. “Come, ser. Let us be done with it.”

He strode forward of his own will. “May I speak, my princess?” he said respectfully.

“Briefly, ser.”

“Please be kind to my wife and goodsister. Please do not punish the children for the mistakes of men.”

Lyanna admired him, just a bit. With his last moments of life, he pleaded on behalf of his family. Perhaps there was something redeeming about House Royce afterall.

“I spoke in anger last night, ser. I will not send the boys to the Wall.”

Relief flooded his face. “Thank you, my princess!”

“Yet nothing else changes. House Royce is attainted, stripped of all lands, titles, and incomes. The castle Runestone will be awarded to a true and loyal man. Myranda and Ysilla will be raised in my court and I will make good matches for them when they come of age. Robar, Waymar, and Albar will be fostered with friends of mine who will ensure that they learn to revere the dragon.”

Ser Nestor sighed resignedly and knelt to accept his fate. His head joined the others, tarred and placed on spikes above the main gate so that all might know the awful price of treason.

Lyanna retired to the godswood, as her father had done after justice. She cleaned every speck of blood from the blade, then kept buffing at the hilt. Over and over she heard the whistle as the Valyrian blade cut the air and the thunk it made when she sliced through necks and settled into the heavy block. The vibrations still kept her hands trembling. The spray of warm blood across the ground like a hellish waterfall.

She had never killed a man before. She had fought in the yard, and in a tourney as a mystery knight, but she had never taken a life. Now she had four notches on her belt. She supposed she should have felt something, but all she could summon was disappointment. These fools had been given a second chance and had pissed it away. Petyr had the right of it: King Aerys’ mercy was far too precious to squander.

When Ice was cleaned to her satisfaction and her mind had quieted enough to hear herself think, Lyanna returned to the castle. The unpleasant task was finished. Now she was going to do something nice for someone.

“Petyr Baelish, you have served me well, and I have decided on your reward. I offer you a place as my advisor.”

He blinked twice. “My princess, I most humbly accept.”

“You have wisdom, despite your youth. I want honest men, and you have been honest with me, even regarding your less than honorable deeds with Lysa.”

She saw shrewdness in his eyes, and she wanted it on her side. She had a gut feeling that he would continue to serve her well. After consulting with Alyssa, Lyanna had been able to find a modest parcel of land that she could bestow upon Petyr.

“However, since I can’t have a poor boy in my service whose home does not even merit a name, I have decided to grant you the castle Brightstone.”

He raised one eyebrow. “My seat is now on the biggest Finger?”

While she did have a very convenient castle by the name of Runestone to dispose of, that was too great a prize.

“Houses Shell and Brightstone warred over the petty kingdom of the Fingers. Each enlisted an Andal warlord, and each was betrayed.”

Lord Lyn began to laugh. “That warlord was called Corwyn Corbray.”

“Indeed, my lord. He claimed the title Lord of the Five Fingers, and now, Petyr, I resurrect it for you.”

“You make of me a noble in my own right.”

“I do. All lords and landed knights of the Fingers shall be beholden to House Baelish.”

He did not answer directly. Instead, he knelt at her feet. “Princess Lyanna, I, Petyr of the House Baelish, do pledge my life and loyalty to you and place myself and my domain under your protection.”

“Rise, Lord Baelish.”

“Command me, my princess.”

“Serve me faithfully.”

“I hear and obey.”

Petyr’s counsel was invaluable to her over the next days. He had advised her to be the ice dragon, and her show of strength had scared the snickers out of her remaining lords.

“I think it was the fact that you did it yourself that pushed them over the edge,” he said. “They could have witnessed a headsman’s work with equanimity, but to see a beautiful princess bearing a legendary blade with such skill and precision disturbs them.”

“I have only been a princess a short time.”

“Still a noble lady,” he noted. “Still disturbing to their sensibilities.”

“I should invite the Mormont women to visit.”

“House Mormont of Bear Island?”

“Aye. Their women are just as good as men.”

“What an extraordinary thing.”

“It’s perfectly natural to me, my lord. In time, it will become natural in the Vale as well. Now, if you will excuse me, I am due to spend some time with my son and nephew.”

“Of course.” He smiled. “Have fun.”

Catelyn was in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair, working on a piece of embroidery. Hoster and Jon were playing together with an intricately knotted cloth.

“Hello, Catelyn.”

Catelyn ignored the greeting. She kept her eyes on her needlework. “I wish there were something of Ned in him,” she said sadly.

“He’s still a handsome boy, even if he does look all-Tully,” Lyanna said. “Jon doesn’t look like Rhaegar either.”

“It is strange.”

They both winced as Hoster gave a piercing cry.

Catelyn smiled. “I am glad that they are both healthy.”

There was a brief lull as Lyanna gathered her bravery. “Catelyn, I must speak with you on a delicate subject.”

“Yes, my princess?”

“How do you feel about Lord Petyr?”

Catelyn smiled. “He’s always been clever. You could have chosen much more poorly.”

“I mean personally.”

“You know I think of him as a younger brother.”

“Could it ever be more?”

“What do you mean, Lyanna?”

Lyanna inwardly rejoiced at the familiar mode of address. “He loves you. I see it plainly when he speaks of you. If it could happen, would you want him?” Catelyn considered the question for so long, Lyanna feared she would not answer. “I would never force you, not after Robert. I offer you a choice.”

At last, Catelyn said, “Yes. I may not love him as I loved Brandon, but I know he will treat me with kindness. If he will still have me after I have been another man’s wife, then yes.”

The matter settled, they headed to the great hall. Lyanna sat down in her seat and smiled at her court.

“Who likes weddings?” she said brightly. “I think we’re due for some big fancy ones.”

“Lord Gerold Grafton!” the herald called.

“My princess,” he said effusively, genuflecting before her.

“My lord, I promised you a wife so that House Grafton might flourish. House Darry is an old and honored house, wealthy and powerful in the Riverlands. After Tully’s Treason, they became Lord Paramount. The late Lord Dundar was a friend to my husband, Prince Rhaegar, and Lord Raymun has graciously consented to your marriage to his sister, the Lady Jeyne.”

“So quickly, my princess? Thank you. I am honored by your attention.”

“We expect her arrival in two weeks. She will come by sea.”

Lord Gerold grinned. “Magnificent.”

“Lord Lyn Corbray!” the herald bawled.

“My lord, you were also promised a bride, and though she is not from such a distinguished house as Darry, House Swann has known much glory. Amusingly enough, her name is also Jeyne.”

“My princess, that you have concerned yourself with such a trivial matter leaves me with no words that are sufficiently grateful.”

“A simple ‘thank you’ is all that is required, my lord.”

“Thank you, my princess.”

“You are welcome, my lord. Lady Jeyne is presently at Storm’s End with her uncle, Ser Cyrian. She will also come by sea.”

Lyanna took a drink from her goblet. Now things were going to get ugly.

“Since there are going to be so many weddings happening in the near future, we may as well have one for you, Lord Baelish.”

“My princess,” he said with an effusive bow, “you honor me again. Whom have you chosen as my bride?”

“Lady Catelyn.”

Petyr looked like he might have found the Seven. Lysa shrieked. “No! He loves me! Don’t separate us. I thought we were friends, Lyanna!”

Lyanna looked at her coolly. “We are, but I have no need of friends. I have need of loyal bannermen. Lord Baelish has need of a wife, and he did not choose you.”

“Of course he would chose me! He loves me! He claimed me! We’re going to be married and have lots of babies together!” Lysa glared the most abject hatred at Catelyn. “Don’t believe her lies. Thief! Poacher! Craven pirate! Why would you steal him from me? You never loved him! You never wanted him! Not like me!”

“Lysa, stop this,” Lyanna commanded. “I know that’s what you wanted, but it’s not to be. We will find you another match, and-”

“Fucking bitch!” Lysa’s advance was stopped by Ser Arthur, who had been forewarned. “I don’t want another match! How dare you? I _liked_ you! Betrayer! False one! Deceiver!”

“Take her to her room until she calms down,” Lyanna ordered.

Catelyn’s expression hadn’t changed a flicker. “She won’t.”

“Then she’ll stay in there forever.”


	24. Viserys VIII

Arranging everything for the trip to King’s Landing took the better part of two days, and Viserys was champing at the bit to hit the road. His own packing had taken almost no time at all. 

Early in the morning, they gathered in the courtyard. Ser Bertram helped Renly onto the gentle gray pony he was to ride. At one point Viserys had contemplated giving Renly a horse of his own. 

_Now the traitor-kin is lucky he doesn’t have to walk._

As they approached Bronzegate, Lord Genghis Buckler met them with an honor guard of fifty men.

“Hail, my lord prince,” the old man said, his voice a bit wheezy. “I have come to offer you the hospitality of Bronzegate.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Viserys said. He glanced up at Ser Alliser, who nodded. “We will soon need a place to settle for the night anyway, and it seems Bronzegate is close enough.”

“Splendid!” He looked around expectantly as they resumed riding. “My lord prince, does my grandson Brus travel with you? He left for Storm’s End in high spirits. I hope he has not managed to get himself in trouble and disinvited from this expedition. Where are you bound?”

“King’s Landing. This is a special trip for Renly here to see his traitor brother’s head.”

Lord Buckler grew pale. “I see, my lord prince.”

“I decided to leave the other lads at Storm’s End. There was no real need for them to come. After all, they’re only related to traitors, not traitors themselves.”

“Of- of course.” He had begun to sweat now.

“You were a traitor, weren’t you, my lord? You answered Robert Baratheon’s call and fought for him to the end.”

“I had no choice, my lord prince. Lord Robert threatened to end my line and tear down my castle.”

“Did you think the dragons would do less?”

Lord Buckler quickly shook his head. “No, my lord prince. I knew the dragons would do worse, but Lord Robert stood outside my gates. I could hope for a chance to explain myself to King Aerys. I could not reason with Lord Robert.”

Viserys pondered that for a moment. “Brus tells me that his father died during the war.”

“My son, Baldwyn. He caught an arrow with his face at Stony Sept.”

“That sounds unpleasant,” Viserys noted. “Ser Alliser says the bow is a coward’s weapon.”

“Fit only for those who have no skill with a blade,” the knight agreed.

“If a man must fall in battle, he should face the man plainly,” Lord Buckler agreed. “Excuse me, please. I must send word ahead.”

“You may go, my lord.”

The old man hurried his horse and went to speak with some of his men.

Ser Alliser snorted derisively. “What an ass-licker.”

It was good to have a chance to visit with one of his lords, even if this one was a traitor who had knelt at the Trident. His hall was warm, his food was good, and his beds comfortable. They continued up the Kingsroad in the morning, entering the Kingswood by the afternoon. They encountered no bandits. Viserys’ previous show of force had kept the peace. That night, they made camp. Renly was to sleep in the tent with Viserys and Ser Alliser.

Viserys woke up to Ser Alliser’s swearing. “What is wrong, ser?”

“The brat isn’t here, my lord prince.”

Viserys felt fuzzy in the brain. “Bring him back,” he ordered, before dropping back to sleep.

It seemed just a few moments later when Ser Alliser dragged Renly back into the tent. Viserys sat up, blinking blearily.

"Renly, where were you?"

"Tried to run away," Ser Alliser said, shoving him forward.

Viserys scowled. "It seems this trip could not come soon enough."

“I hate you all,” Renly said defiantly.

“You should hate your brothers, for they led you onto the path of treason. If they had not poisoned your mind, you would want to be my friend and companion.”

“Never!”

“Do I need to tie you to a tree to keep you from running again, Ser Fawn?”

Renly snarled at Ser Alliser in response.

They did not take such a drastic measure, but Renly was guarded more rigorously after his attempt at escape.

Two days later they crossed the Wendwater, the large river that snaked through the forest and marked the boundary between the Stormlands and the crownlands. Lord Wendwater offered them hospitality, but the day was still young, and they made many miles before the shadows crept in.

They emerged from the forest a week later to the shores of the Blackwater Rush. Crossing the Blackwater was never an easy feat. The river was deep, swift, with treacherous currents. It was not possible to ford, and there was no bridge. Their party was not exactly small, but the ferryman was eager for the work.

King’s Landing was a magnificent city. The surrounding walls were tall and strong. The gold cloaked City Watch manned the walls, their spear points gleaming in the late afternoon sun. 

"My forebear, Aegon the Conqueror, built this city," Viserys said proudly. "So that all the other lords should know his might. Here is where he and his sisters landed with their dragons and from there, all the seven kingdoms knelt to them."

They went in through the Water Gate, more commonly known as the Mud Gate. They made their way through the winding streets to the top of Aegon's Hill where the Red Keep sat, its red stone walls glistening from the earlier rain.

"Hurry up," Viserys said. "I want to show Renly his traitor brother's head."

"It will have to wait, my lord prince," Ser Alliser said. "You must be tired from your long journey and you won't want to go out in the rain." 

He was about to argue when a yawn overcame him. "Very well," he said languidly. "I suppose I should like to see Mother and Father, as well."

They dismounted and turned the reins over to stablehands

"Come on, boy." Ser Alliser pulled Renly toward the keep.

That night, Renly ate supper with Ser Bertram in his chamber while Viserys ate with his family in the great hall.

It was sublime to see Rhaegar again. Viserys didn’t realize how much he had missed his brother until he saw him.

“Rhaegar!” he cried, forgetting all his princely dignity. He ran forward and embraced him.

“Hello, young dragon. Oh, how I have missed you! You’ve grown so much, and it’s only been such a short time.”

“I missed you too, Rhaegar! I’ve got to tell you all about my castle!”

“Soon, Viserys, soon. Greet your goodsister first.”

“Hello, Elia!”

She smiled gently. “Hello, Viserys. Welcome back to King’s Landing.”

“How are my niece and nephew?”

“They are well. I know they will be glad to see you. They should be getting up from their nap soon.”

Viserys bent and kissed his mother’s hand. “Dear Mother. You are simply radiant. Are you well?”

“Yes, son, I am. Thank you for asking.”

“Where is Father?”

“He’s busy, darling.”

“Can I see him?”

“Perhaps later. Are you hungry?”

“Yes!”

“Then let us go to dinner.”

Rhaenys and Aegon had grown by leaps and bounds since he’d last seen them. Aegon was starting to walk, and he toddled to and fro with his hands in the air for balance. He was quite steady, considering his young age, and Viserys marvelled at him.

“Was I ever this small?”

Mother smiled. “Oh, yes, young dragon, and even smaller. You walked early too. I remember the day perfectly. We were in the throne room after your father had dismissed the court. I believe he wanted to meet with the pyromancers. I was trying to decide how to spend the rest of my day, for I’d been supposed to go outside for lunch, but a sudden rain squall came in to ruin the sunshine. You were in my arms, squirming as you always did. I put you down at my feet and stretched my back. I felt a tug at my skirts, and you pulled yourself to your feet. It was a new trick for you, accomplished only the day before. Well, I looked down, and you looked up at me. Then you turned and took three steps forward before you crashed to the floor.”

Viserys grinned. “Three steps on my first try?”

“I suspect it wasn’t your first try, but it was the first I saw. That was good enough for me.”

“What then?” Rhaenys said.

“I was so shocked I didn’t move.” Mother looked fondly at Viserys. “Then you cried, and I picked you up. You were surprised, more than hurt. I soothed you, then I put you down so you could show me again.”

“Did he?” Rhaenys interjected.

“That he did. Soon he was steadier on his feet. Soon after that, he was running all about. You watch. Aegon will do the same.”

The hour grew late, and Viserys got to help give Aegon and Rhaenys their baths. Trying to scrub a squirming babe without letting him drown himself was very challenging, and the soap made everything that much more difficult. Rhaenys showed no interest in helping, being more interested in splashing. 

“Will you read me a story, Uncle Viserys?” Rhaenys requested once they had dried off and put on nightclothes.

Viserys felt a strange warmth deep in his chest. “I would love to,” he replied, letting her lead the way.

Princess Rhaenys’ current bedtime story was _The Hedge Knight_ , an account of how the lowborn Ser Duncan the Tall had blundered into befriending the Targaryen family. It was a marvelous tale, full of deception, intrigue, love, betrayal, and combat. She wasn’t much a fan of the combat, but it was fortunately mostly at the end. After reading until she fell asleep, he carefully closed the book and put it on the table. He blew out the candle and slipped soundlessly from the room.

“That was fun,” he whispered to Elia, who was coming out of Aegon’s room.

“You can do it every night, if you wish,” she retorted lightly. “I’ve never seen her so willing to have a bath. Usually it’s a pitched battle to wash her. The servants won’t do it anymore, and I haven’t the heart to threaten to tell the king.”

“Where is Father? Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

“He’s a very busy man, Viserys. Even with Rhaegar’s help, there is still much for him to do in order to set right the kingdoms.”

As much as he didn’t like it, he knew Father’s work had to come first. He resolved to wait up for him, but the hour grew late as the fire burned low. Mother pleaded exhaustion and retired. Rhaegar and Elia chatted quietly, and at last, Viserys could keep his eyes open no longer.

“Give my best to Father when he comes,” he said through a yawn. “I will have to see him in the morning. Good night, everyone.”

“Good night, young dragon. Pleasant dreams.”

His dreams were filled with shining armor and flashing swords. He saw himself, wearing black enamelled plate armor inlaid with yellow gemstones, leading hordes of faceless men in battle. The only clear face was Rhaegar, and the rubies on his armor were matched by the crown of flames he wore. 

The next morning, Viserys broke his fast with Elia, Mother, and the children. Rhaegar had risen with the sun and had been hard at work for hours before he ate. Father was nowhere to be found.

_Oh well. I suppose I shall have to get on with teaching Renly._

Renly had been assigned to a room in the Red Keep.

“Good morning, Renly. Did you sleep well? I did. It was nice to be back in my old room again. I shall have more of my things packed up and brought back to Storm’s End with us. We’re going to see your traitor brother’s head now. Do you think that will teach you to behave? You don’t want to end up like that. Later on, you will meet my father, the king, and you must be respectful to him. If you’re not, he’ll have you boiled in oil or something like that.”

“He’s a monster. He doesn’t just kill people, he tortures them.”

“He punishes the guilty,” Viserys snapped. “They must be made to repent.”

"This is for your own good, boy," Ser Alliser said, as he opened the door to the battlements.

The spikes were between the crenels. Viserys skipped forward. "The rebel is here. Look at it."

Renly didn’t look. He kept his head bowed, his face hidden.

"Look," Viserys demanded again. He pinched Renly's arm. "That's what happens to rebels and traitors, Renly. If you don't want to end up like that, you'll do what I say."

Renly reluctantly looked up. “How long do I have to look?” he said in a flat tone.

"There's another spike over there," Viserys said, ignoring the insolence. "When they find your brother Stannis, they'll put his head right there. Maybe we'll get to watch as Ser Ilyn takes off his head."

Renly lunged at Viserys, but Ser Alliser grabbed his left arm. Renly's right hand flashed to his boot and in one smooth motion Renly slashed Ser Alliser's wrist. Blood gushed out and Ser Alliser let go with a yell. Renly bolted.

"Murder! Murder!" Viserys screamed. Ser Bertram opened the door and Renly slid right past him. 


	25. Rhaegar IX

For the first time in many moons, his heart was light. The words on the scroll of parchment burned into his eyes. Lyanna and Jon had departed the Gates of the Moon and journeyed south on the High Road with a hundred armored knights of the Vale around them. Soon he would see her again. _At last, my friend will get to meet his namesake._

 _My dearest love,_ she wrote, _I ache for the comfort of your touch, the sound of your voice. I have been so lonely. I have no one I can turn to, save Ser Arthur, and he is more your man than mine. I have been strong, but I am still a woman, and I yearn for your arms around me, your breath tickling my ear. Let me be able to untense at last._

She had been strong. That was her euphemism. That was the sanitized manner in which she described the dramatic plot she had foiled. She had not told him about the rebels she had discovered or the justice she had done. She had merely said that things were well in hand in Dragonvale.

Ser Arthur’s letter had opened his eyes.

Though he knew she was trained at arms and though he had seen her fight, he still found it impossible to picture her executing condemned men. Four traitorous lords and knights had tried to escape the castle with Alyssa Arryn, the late Lord Jon’s niece and heir, and her infant daughter. Four heads she had taken, that now decorated the walls of the Gates.

 _Would that I could have seen it!_ he thought with fierce pride. Dragonvale it truly was now. The Vale lords would stay on their knees for at least the next two generations after her display of strength.

Ser Cyrian’s reports from Storm’s End were encouraging as well. The stormlords were almost pathetically eager to demonstrate their submission to the dragon. Several had sent tributes of fresh stag heads with magnificent antlers. Many had sent hostages to be companions to Viserys.

After young Lord Alyn Estermont had gotten mouthy in the practice yard, Viserys had reduced his family to a knightly house. Now there was a question of who the new lord would be. Should this new lord be raised up at Greenstone or would House Estermont be allowed to keep it? Rhaegar might have to intervene.

The other companions were growing loyal to Viserys personally, with many participating eagerly in The Great Bonfire. There were no more stags in Storm’s End. Now there was only the golden dragon.

_I wonder what color of dragon Jon will choose for his seat at the Eyrie._

While it was good to see Viserys again, concealing Father’s condition from him was tricky. It wasn’t as though Rhaegar could just tell him that he had removed their father from the throne in an armed coup. Viserys was still young and hadn’t yet grasped the art of discretion. The last thing Rhaegar needed was for anyone to lend credence to the wild stories that the pyromancer was still spreading.

If not for Elia, he doubted he would have been able to deflect Viserys all night. A new burst of love swelled up in his heart. His renewed relationship with Elia was a thing of wonder and amazement for him. She would be a queen of renowned beauty and grace. 

With Lyanna coming to King’s Landing for Viserys’ wedding, Rhaegar hoped that he would have an opportunity to make peace between them all. He needed his own House to be tranquil if the realm was to be served.

Ser Jaime had left King’s Landing to lead the honor guard for his sister’s journey from Casterly Rock. That left three absences from the Kingsguard, as the Lord Commander tactfully reminded him.

“Has Your Grace chosen new members for the Kingsguard?”

Even the short list had held a dozen names. How was even a king to choose the best among them? Rhaegar had settled for drawing lots.

“Ser Edmund Brune, for one. He was with me on the Trident, and all speak to his valor and honor there.”

“An excellent choice, Your Grace. And the other?”

“Ser Lerran Blackmont. He fought with Prince Lewyn and slew many on the Trident.”

“Very good, Your Grace. I will speak with them and arrange for the ceremony.”

“I look forward to pinning the white cloak on them.”

“And what of Ser Jonothor?”

This question had weighed much upon him. The knight had failed to protect Queen Rhaella from a rapist who had impregnated her.

“King or not, I would expect you to stop me, were I to lose my mind and assault Queen Elia.”

“I understand, Your Grace. I will attend to what must be done.”

The Kingsguard protected their own honor. If a knight dishonored the white cloak, his brothers would relieve him of the burden of his life. It was one less thing Rhaegar had to worry about, for the crown was heavy on his head as he listened to Lord Raymun Darry reporting on conditions in the Riverlands.

Lord Raymun had taken possession of Riverrun in the name of the crown, and he had used it as his base of operations as he established his control over the Riverlands. The new Lord Paramount took his duties seriously, and Rhaegar had been required to personally write the earnest young man and command his presence in King’s Landing. 

“The land is recovering. Crops are starting to grow. Hopefully the harvest will be bountiful.”

“The scars of the war are fading, then?” Rhaegar said hopefully.

“They are, Your Grace. Soon, Tully’s Treason will be a lesson of history. The riverlords have all sent hostages. Some I have kept at Darry. Others I sent to our friends in Dorne.” Here he nodded at Lord Aerryk Dayne, the Master of Coin. “I brought some here to court as well.”

Rhaegar frowned. His father would have commanded hostages, and likely executed them at a whim. _I will not be my father._

“It is not meet, my lord,” Lord Walter Whent said. “Your Grace, I could keep these hostages at Harrenhal, if it please you.”

“It does, my lord. There will be no hostages in this city while I still draw breath. I will not have it said that I am my father’s son.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Darry said apologetically. “I should have considered the matter more carefully.”

“Continue.”

Lord Raymun said, “Young Lord Edmure seems to have taken a liking to his castellan. Ser Garth reports that the boy has asked to go hunting.”

Rhaegar’s reply was forestalled by a knock at the door. The Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister, stepped into the room.

“Stannis Baratheon is here, Your Grace. He wishes to pledge fealty.”

His Hand’s characteristic understatement caught Rhaegar by surprise. _Did I hear him correctly?_ “Who is here?”

“Stannis Baratheon. According to the guards, he walked right up to the gate and asked to see you. They brought him to me.”

“Fascinating. It is truly he?”

“It is.”

“And he wishes to see me, to pledge fealty?”

“So he says, Your Grace. It could be a trick or a trap of some kind. He was quite insistent that it happen immediately.”

“You think he intends treachery?”

“Further treachery, you mean, Your Grace?” Lord Tywin asked archly. “He did already reject one offer to bend the knee.”

“If I were him, I wouldn’t have bent a knee in front of Mace Tyrell either,” Lord Raymun interjected.

Rhaegar nodded thoughtfully. “Do not forget that he would have relied upon my royal sire’s mercy, and he had none. Then that whole business with cutting off the hand?”

“I’d bet half the treasury that Tarly precipitated that calamity,” Lord Whent said.

“Most likely.”

“So you wish to see him, Your Grace?”

“You checked him for weapons?”

“He carried only a short sword.”

“Very well. Bring him to me.”

“Yes, Your Grace. At once.”

“Gentlemen, please excuse me. I think we were nearly done, were we not?”

“We were, Your Grace,” replied Lord Raymun. “With your permission, I would like to return to Darry now. There is much work to be done.”

“Of course.”

“Come, Lord Whent. Let us see to the hostages and trouble the king no more.”

Lord Tywin opened the door again a few moments later and bowed. "Stannis Baratheon, Your Grace." He stepped aside and Stannis entered.

He looked not much like a lord or a knight. He had cleaned himself up as best he could, but it was plain he had fallen on hard times. He had not regained much weight since the siege of Storm’s End. He was still gaunt and bony. Life as a wanderer had not suited him.

"My Hand says me you have something to tell me."

"Aye." Stannis set the sack down and took a knee properly. "Your Grace, I, Stannis, of the House Baratheon, pledge you my fealty and renounce my rebel brother. I put myself at your mercy.”

He kept his head bowed, staring at the carpet. Rhaegar watched him, looking for any hint of deception. There was none. This man was beaten. The slump of his shoulders was genuine. He had stopped running and had chosen to face his fate as a man.

"Rise, cousin." 

Stannis stood. He did not raise his head.

"Be seated." Rhaegar waved him to a chair. "We have much to discuss."

"I present a gift, Your Grace. I came upon them in my travels." He handed Rhaegar the sack.

He peered inside curiously and felt a shock to his very core. He lifted out one of the stone-like objects, marvelling at the weight and indescribable feel of them. 

"I'm sure there is an interesting tale behind these," he said, knowing that his most fervent imaginings would likely only scratch the surface. "I should like to hear it." He paused as a horrible thought occurred to him. "Are they genuine?"

"Of that I am certain."

Rhaegar ran a hand over the egg in front of him. He almost imagined it felt alive. It was warm to the touch.

"Your Grace?"

"Yes, of course." Rhaegar laid the egg aside with considerable effort. "I see you have been through much. I would give you a chance to rest. I will have quarters prepared for you. I accept your oath of fealty and look forward to forging a new history for our houses. I have taken my own steps to begin that and I continue it by welcoming you back. I cannot offer you Storm's End, but be assured a place will be found for you. Perhaps Greenstone? It is currently lordless."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Stannis bowed again. "I should like to see my brother, if I may."

"I will have him brought to you." His eyes drifted to the eggs once more.

Rhaegar did not notice as the man left the room. He could not look away from the eggs. _Where did he find three? Why him? Why was my cousin, failed rebel and exile, chosen to deliver these eggs to me?_

 _What does it all mean? First the gods gave me three children. Now they send me three dragon eggs. How to hatch them?_ There was no question of whether or not he should attempt it. He could feel the potential in the eggs. Though he himself had been born amidst smoke and salt as Summerhall burned, he knew that he would succeed where his family had failed.

An hour passed, but the king was completely absorbed. He could not hear the frantic pounding on the door or the desperate calls of the Kingsguard. He did not smell the smoke.

At last he noticed the heat and light of the flames. _A fire?_ He jumped up, glancing frantically around, but there was no escape. Everything was burning.

Calm stole over him, his panic fading. He sat back down in his chair, contemplating the eggs, hearing three heartbeats clearly through the crackling flames. He did not panic, even as the inferno raged around him.


	26. Lyanna IX

Lysa had not calmed down, just as Catelyn predicted. She raged at anyone who tried to enter the room, demanded to see Petyr, and invariably turned violent. She had been invited to the wedding out of courtesy. She had declined. Vocally.

Catelyn had been sad about that, inevitable though it may have been. Still, when the day arrived, she had only happy tears and smiles.

_It is good to see Catelyn smile._

Petyr’s heart was in his eyes as he spoke the words in the sept. No man had ever spoken truer when he declared before men and gods that he would protect, honor, and cherish her and no other.

Lyanna gave the bride away. It was fitting on several levels. Catelyn was her goodsister, but she was also a ward of the crown and Lyanna was the representative of the crown. She removed the Stark cloak from Catelyn’s shoulders, noting the Tully colors she wore under it.

To go with his new seat at Brightstone, Lord Petyr had chosen new heraldry for himself, a flock of silver mockingbirds on a green field. It was quite striking, and quite different from his grandfather’s grey stone head with fiery eyes. It was the Titan of Braavos, Petyr’s great-grandfather being a sellsword from the city.

_How far they have come so rapidly._

The rich green cloak had a single mockingbird embroidered in tight silver stitches. It had taken a lot of work to fashion to Lyanna’s satisfaction. Never one to go to much trouble for herself, Lyanna went overboard for Catelyn. She was determined that Catelyn have one happy wedding. The feast was lavish. There were a dozen magnificent courses, each more delicious than the last. There were as many musicians as she could find in the Vale.

The bedding was boisterous, but Catelyn’s face was rigid. Ned hadn’t allowed a bedding, so the experience of having her clothing removed by the crowd was all new to her. She tried to smile, but her grin was fixed, and she looked terrified.

_Petyr will put her at ease soon enough._

The ladies of the court had stripped him as well. They ooh’d and aah’d over his scar. He looked uncomfortable at the public attention, but he tried to smile.

Weddings were happening quite often in the Vale. Lord Lyn had married Lady Jeyne Swann several nights ago. Lord Gerold had married Lady Jeyne Darry a week before. Now Lord Petyr married Lady Catelyn, and Lyanna would leave in the morning. She was returning to King’s Landing for her goodbrother Viserys’ wedding to Lady Cersei Lannister.

 _I wonder how she feels, marrying a boy ten years her junior. There will be no bedding. She will have some years before she can experience the bliss of the marriage bed. Still, he_ is _a prince, and head of his own house. She will be the Lady of Storm’s End._

Lyanna had decided to leave Lady Alyssa nominally in charge of the castle. She was most qualified, and she was far too invested in her infant daughter to engage in plots. With Lord Lyn and Lord Gerold to watch over her, she would be quite safe.

Lord Petyr and his new bride were investigating his new seat, so Lyanna was without her ladies for the journey. She took a maid, for no woman should be alone in the company of so many men, and Wylla was there to provide milk for Jon.

Ser Arthur and the Prince’s Guard rode with them. Jon’s sworn shield had been nervous around her since she had executed the traitor lords. The remaining lords were still terrified of her. She sent them back to their own lands. They had learned their lessons, or so she hoped.

It was a lonely journey back to King’s Landing. She was eager to see Rhaegar again, and she hoped that she might have a chance to meet with Princess Elia. There had been no opportunity to apologize to the woman for falling in love with her husband. While she had no regrets about _what_ she had done with Rhaegar, she had many about _how_ they had done it. 

_If only we had been more open and honest-_

She wrenched her thoughts back from that abyss. That way lay madness.

_I will apologize to her. I will fall on my knees in front of her and beg her forgiveness. I tore her marriage apart. I could not forgive a woman who did that to me. How can I ask it of her? Must I offer my life? Who will care for Jon? Rhaegar, of course, but who will be his mother? Do I dare ask that Elia raise him? He is innocent. Surely she would not be so vile as to harm him!_

The Dornish were known for being passionate people, quick to love, to anger, and to war. They were also known for great acts of forgiveness. She’d heard at least a dozen stories from Maester Walys where some knight had suffered from ultimate betrayal, yet when given the chance to have revenge, would not take it.

_I hope Elia will not hold a babe responsible for the sins of the parents._

A hundred armored knights of Dragonvale were more than enough to intimidate the mountain clans, so they were unmolested as they made their way down the High Road. At last they were quit of the foothills and reached the intersection of the Kingsroad.

They bedded down for the night at the inn at the crossroads. There were not many guests this night, for the taproom was empty. The innkeeper’s face lit up when Lyanna’s knights came tromping through the door.

“Masha!” he yelled towards the kitchen. “Masha, we’ve got an army come in! Get Tom out to the stables to tend to the horses!” He turned toward his guests. “Welcome! Welcome! Come in, come in! I am Jonan Heddle, master of this inn. How may I be of service to you?”

“Master Heddle, I am Lyanna Stark. These-” she was cut off as the innkeeper went to his knees.

“Princess Lyanna, this humble inn is honored by your presence. We revere the dragon within these walls and have since we were known as The Two Crowns.”

“It is good to know,” she replied, a little helplessly. “I am on my way to King’s Landing, and these knights are my escort. Have you space for a hundred knights and retainers?”

“Tonight, by what I see now is good fortune, I am not very busy,” Jonan Heddle said cheerfully. “Will the dormitory be acceptable? I assume that within a company of honorable knights that the usual concerns about petty thievery will be moot.”

“That is more than adequate, good master.” _And my purse thanks you._

“Your more noble knights may, of course, prefer a private room. There will be an additional cost.”

“And they can bear it themselves,” Lyanna said with a tight grin. “I’m putting a roof over their head and food in their bellies. If they want privacy, that’s their concern.”

Master Heddle chuckled. “Of course, my princess. You, naturally, will have our finest room. The royal suite! King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne themselves stayed here!”

“I hope you’ve aired out the bedding since then.”

Jonan laughed broadly. “My princess, you are the soul of wit. I’ve no doubt that the straw of the royal bed was immediately sold to the highest bidder. No, this mattress was installed only last week. You should find it most delightful. Now, if you will excuse me, I find myself suddenly very busy.”

The ale was tasty, and Lyanna noted that the food was better than she expected.

Darry, the lands of the new Lord Paramount, was just across the river. According to the innkeeper, Lord Raymun had been tirelessly putting things to rights in the Riverlands and restoring the king’s peace. He had been working the land just as hard as any peasant, and the innkeeper was plain in his admiration.

“Most nobles wouldn’t even deign to look at us. They only notice me when they want something. Lord Raymun, he’s different. He came through and asked me if I would be able to keep my inn open. I thought I could, and he wanted to know what I needed in order to be sure. He said we were too important to be allowed to close.” The gruff man laughed heartily. “Imagine that! Me, important! His lordship, he said too many people depended on my inn as they travelled the Kingsroad, and he would take steps to keep me open if I couldn’t make ends meet. Great man, Lord Raymun. Great man.”

It was good to hear the smallfolk sounding positive and upbeat. In war, no matter what noble family won, the smallfolk always lost. Their sons were taken for soldiers, their daughters taken _by_ soldiers, their homes burned, their fields salted, and their lives uprooted.

The next morning, Lyanna was in no hurry to depart. She had a mind to meet this Lord Raymun and see what it was about him that had earned the love of his smallfolk.

Castle Darry was on the small side. It was functional more than ornate. The castle flew two banners. One was the three-headed red dragon of Targaryen. The other was a black plowman on a brown field, the arms of House Darry.

A party of a dozen knights came out to greet them. In the middle was a young man who wore the plowman.

“My princess,” Lord Raymun said, dropping to one knee. “My house is unexpectedly honored. I offer you all the comforts of my hall.”

“The honor is mine, Lord Raymun. The dragon remembers. I accept your hospitality gladly. Please rise.”

“I am glad to be here for your visit. I had feared that I would meet you on the kingsroad.”

“You expected me?”

“King Rhaegar, he said you would be coming for the wedding.”

_King Rhaegar is it now? Fascinating. When I left, he had yet to act. His missive said he was only Prince Regent. What can have changed?_

“How go the preparations?”

“The discussions are quite lively, my princess. Lord Tywin wishes to spare no expense, but the king has commanded austerity. The Hand is having to spend a great deal of his own money.”

“Well, he certainly has plenty of it.”

“Moreover, his lands were not touched by the war,” Lord Raymun noted. “The Riverlands are recovering, but it will be several years before they are as they once were.”

“With your guidance, perhaps even shorter,” Lyanna said. “I have heard many tales of you, Lord Raymun. The smallfolk hold you in much esteem.”

The young man flushed. “I merely went among them and listened to their needs.”

“Precisely, my lord. You listened. No one has done that for them in quite some time. Keep it up.”

“I do so intend, my princess. I was not prepared for this duty that has fallen upon me. I would honor my father and brothers, so I must be diligent.”

“Well said, my lord.”

They spent the day walking the grounds, and she found herself impressed with his knowledge of farming.

_He claims to be unprepared, but many a homestead in the North would benefit from half of his knowledge._

The next morning, Lyanna’s party rose with the sun and made many miles before they stopped for breakfast. Talking about Rhaegar with Lord Raymun had re-ignited the passion within her, and she was eager to see him again.

They made good time down the kingsroad, and soon King’s Landing was in sight. 

_Rhaegar, soon I will be with you. Soon you will hold our son again._

Suddenly there was a tremendous noise, as though from an explosion. A low-pitched, deep booming sound rattled their teeth, even at this great distance. Jon woke up and began to cry.

A pillar of green fire roared up to the sky. Wildfire! Absently, she noted that it was almost pretty. Then there was another explosion, and another burst of flame gushed skyward. A third came, then a fourth, and soon it seemed to be everywhere.

Helpless to act, Lyanna stood rooted to the spot, clutching a terrified Jon to her chest.

_The whole city is ablaze. Rhaegar! Rhaegar, my love, please escape!_


	27. Viserys IX

Once Ser Alliser’s wrist had been bandaged by the maester, he and Viserys went to court. It had been some months since Viserys had left King’s Landing, and there were many new faces. There were no Stormlanders, nor Valemen, nor Northmen. There were Riverlanders from loyal houses, Dornish, and a goodly number of Westernmen.

_Why would Father allow them at court after Tywin Lannister sat out the war?_

“Ser Alliser!” One of the white knights stepped forward and revealed himself as Ser Jaime Lannister. “Well met, brother.”

“And you, brother. Who guards the king?”

“Ser Gerold is with the king. Ser Oswell is with the Queen and Queen Mother. Ser Lerran and Ser Edmund are with the prince and princess.”

“New brothers?”

“Yes, pinned only days ago. I have not known them well, but Ser Lerran’s japes do entertain us all.”

“You look girded for travel, brother. Where are you bound?”

“Casterly Rock. I am to lead the honor guard escorting my sister Cersei to King’s Landing for the wedding.” He turned to Viserys. “Congratulations, my lord prince. I am certain you will be very happy.”

“Thank you, ser.”

“Have you any message or gift for your betrothed, my lord prince?”

Viserys nodded. He had worked with Maester Cressen and Ser Cyrian to craft three verses of poetry for the lady. Rhaegar had told him women enjoyed that sort of thing.

 _Rubbish, really. Still, it is expected of me._ He handed over a scrollcase, sealed with golden wax and the three-headed dragon. It was slightly different than the royal seal, but just to prevent confusion it had been agreed that they would stick to red and gold wax only if at all possible.

“When you arrive, go to the market and buy her flowers. What does she like? Get her that,” he said, as the knight made to answer.

“Yes, my lord prince.”

He hesitated a moment. “Will I like her? Is she fun? Does she like to play games?”

“Once, my lord prince, in another time. Now she is a maiden flowered and has other responsibilities.”

Viserys sighed. “I suppose she enjoys needlepoint, crochet, tea, and lemon cakes.”

“She does like lemon cakes, my lord prince.”

“Bring her some. You didn’t answer me.”

“My lord prince?”

“Will I like her?”

The knight nodded firmly. “Of a certainty, my lord prince.”

“She will, of course, like me.” But his tone wasn’t quite firm.

“She will, my lord prince.”

“She is so old.”

Ser Jaime smiled. “Perhaps it would be best not to phrase it so bluntly, my lord prince. Yes, she is ten years older than you, but by the time you are knighted, it will be of no matter. She will be your lady wife and will love and support you.”

“I suppose we have to-” he broke off and flushed “-you know. Do it.”

The knight was attempting valiantly to maintain his composure, but Viserys could see that it was a futile effort.

“I apologize, Ser Jaime. I did not mean to speak so callously of your noble sister.”

“No, my lord prince. It is not that at all. I merely titter at your innocent terminology.”

“Well,” Viserys flushed even more, “I didn’t think I should say I have to fuck her.”

“My lord prince!” Ser Alliser admonished.

“Oh, hush up, Ser Alliser. I’ve heard you say it more than enough.”

The knight fell silent, though his throat worked furiously as he swallowed his words.

“The term is sex, my lord prince. You really should be asking the maester about this.”

“I did. He says I’m too young.”

“Best heed then.”

“I want to know! How do you sex?”

The knight snorted loudly.

“See! I don’t know anything about how to do sex! Tell me.”

Now his shoulders were shaking.

“Ser knight! Get ahold of yourself!” barked Ser Alliser, though he was smiling too. It looked like he’d borrowed someone else’s face.

“I apologize, my lord prince,” Ser Jaime gasped. “I am overcome with mirth. Your innocence has quite made me giddy.”

Viserys did not like it when people laughed at him. He enjoyed making people laugh with his own jokes, but he did not like it if people made jokes about him. He really didn’t like it when he fell down or otherwise looked foolish.

“Ser Alliser, should I be offended by this man?”

“No, my lord prince. Innocence is of the Seven. It is the aura of heaven still upon the young, and that rarified air makes men do all manner of irrational things.”

“Very well. Be on your way, Ser Jaime. Give your sweet sister my fondest regards.”

The man pulled himself together. “As you command, my lord prince.” The young knight departed.

Viserys tried to get to the front of the hall, but it seemed court had ended for the day. He found Rhaegar standing at the foot of the Iron Throne with several lords.

“Ah, Viserys! I understand you’ve lost your little playmate.”

Viserys scowled. “He attacked Ser Alliser. I was only trying to teach him the folly of treason, like you told me. I’ve been trying for months now. I don’t think he’s going to give up his treason. He knows where his brother went. Did Ser Cyrian send word of that?”

“He doesn’t, not really. Only in the vaguest sense.”

“As you say.”

“Are you hungry? Let us go eat. Would you like to feed Aegon?”

“Yes!” If there was one thing he missed about King’s Landing, it was spending time with his niece and nephew.

The rest of the day was spent with family, and Viserys found himself yawning hugely by the time the children had been bathed and tucked into bed. He sought his own bed even before Rhaegar came to the royal suite.

The next day, Viserys was lonely without Renly. He didn’t know any of the other boys he might have found to play with, and he didn’t care to come to know them if he would soon be returning home to Storm’s End. Without a partner for games, Viserys was reduced to exploring, and he’d roamed through the Red Keep since he was a boy. There was nothing left to discover.

Or so he thought.

He found himself in an unused portion of Maegor’s Holdfast. Nobody had any official business here. He had a practice sword with him, and he pretended that he was in battle, thrusting and moving. Ser Alliser would offer the occasional critique, but it was not serious training, more to get his muscles used to the weight.

Suddenly he heard a wheezing laughter.

“Useless. All useless. Soon my pyromancer will find me, and then we will light the wildfire. All shall cook. All will burn. They will pay.”

“Who’s there?” he shouted. The voice cut off sharply, but it sounded familiar. “Father? Father, is that you?”

“Viserys?”

“Father, it is you! What are you doing down here!”

“Viserys! The gods have heard my prayers and sent someone to rescue me at last. Let me out, my dear boy! Free me, Viserys. Release me from the dank and foul prison cell.”

Viserys tried the door “The door is locked, Father. Who locked you in? Where is the key?”

“I know not where the key may be found.”

“Ser Alliser, release my father,” Viserys commanded regally.

The knight hesitated.

Viserys flared. “Ser Alliser, find the key and let my father, the king, out of that room immediately.”

“Ser Alliser? I pinned that white cloak on you, ser. You are my good and loyal knight. Listen to my son. Release me.

Ser Alliser’s eyes hardened. “At once, Your Grace.”

After a few minutes of searching, Ser Alliser discovered the key and unlocked the heavy door.

Father stepped out into the light, blinking furiously, but not shielding his eyes at all. Ser Alliser went to one knee before the king who had raised him to the Kingsguard.

“Hah hah!” Father cackled, rubbing his hands together. The gnarled claws he’d once had, for fear of letting anyone near him with a blade, had been neatly trimmed. “Good boy, Viserys. You always were the most dutiful of my children.”

“Thank you, Father. What will we do now?”

“Now? Now it is time for revenge. They will pay. They will all pay. They think me unprepared? Hah! Their lack of vision will be their undoing. Soon, every one of them will burn. It shall be a fire so great that the Seven themselves shall take notice of it.”

“Traitors, Father?” Viserys said eagerly. “I want to burn traitors with you.”

Father chuckled and stroked his hair. “I would enjoy that, Viserys, but no. You and Ser Alliser should return to Storm’s End. Soon, all will be well here in King’s Landing. Your scheming brother will learn what it means to wake the dragon.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is the one who put me here. He stole my throne. I’m going to take it away from him.”

“Rhaegar?” Viserys was shocked. “No! You must be mistaken.”

Father snarled. “He, Lord Dayne, Ser Gerold, and Ser Jaime came to me while I was eating breakfast and informed me that I was no longer the king. What mistake can I have possibly made, Viserys? What was passed to me by my great and mighty ancestors has been wrenched from my grasp.”

“Ser Jaime I can believe, the son of the craven lion,” Viserys spat. “But Ser Gerold? What makes the venerable Lord Commander compromise his honor?”

“A question I have pondered these many hours alone. Perhaps the Stark bitch opened her legs to him. Who can say? Her cunt has certainly caused enough chaos in the Kingdoms. Godless, Northern, tree-worshipping whore!”

“If we go back to Storm’s End, who will help you?”

“I have friends, my son, and allies many. Now that I am free, nobody can equal my match.” He cackled again. “Fare thee well, Viserys! Know that I love you and am pleased with you.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Ser Alliser, return Viserys to Storm’s End safely. This is my last command to you.”

“I will obey, Your Grace.” Ser Alliser rose from his knee.

Then he was gone, vanished around a corner.

Viserys was intensely curious as they walked back to his own quarters. “Rhaegar locked Father up? What do you suppose it means?”

Ser Alliser grunted. “It could mean that he seized the throne. The other day at court, we saw your royal brother, but not your royal sire. There have been a few times people have seemed to use the wrong words, but if Rhaegar is now the king, then it makes more sense. Ser Jaime mentioned the ‘Queen Mother’, but your grandmother has been with the Seven for many years.”

Viserys felt his guts twist. _Why would Rhaegar have done this?_

Just then there came a knock. Ser Alliser went to answer it, his hand on his sword hilt.

"Well, someone hunted the little fawn down."

Viserys came running. "Renly! You were very naughty. Are you ready to play nice?"

"No."

Viserys slapped him. Renly raised his hand to strike back, but then he withdrew it, jamming it into his belt. "Stannis is here. He found me."

"Then why are you here?" Viserys smirked. "Why aren't you following him into exile?"

Renly tossed his head. "Because he's going to get a reward from your brother."

All thoughts of Rhaegar deposing their father were washed from his mind in a flash of anger. "My brother would never reward a traitor!"

"Watch him!"

Ser Alliser cuffed Renly on the cheek. "Watch yourself, boy. The king will decide what happens to your brother, and in the meantime, you will do as the prince says."

Renly scowled, but held his tongue.

"Come." Viserys grabbed his wrist. "We can get back to playing."

Renly stopped letting Viserys win. This was frustrating for Viserys.

They were in the middle of a pitched battle using all of Viserys' knights. Viserys’ brow was furrowed in concentration.

"Renly, my foot is advancing on your right flank."

"I am afraid you must leave off the game for now, my lord prince," Ser Alliser said. "We must leave."

"Why?" Viserys knocked over Renly's siege engine.

"There is a fire, my lord prince. It is surely not serious, but we must get to safety."

"Very well." Viserys got to his feet. "You mustn't touch the pieces, Renly; we will come back to it when we return."

Ser Alliser opened the door. The corridor was filled with smoke.

"Come, my lord prince." Ser Alliser reached for Viserys and tucked him securely in his white cloak. "You, too, boy. I won't have your brother blaming me for your death. Keep up."

Ser Alliser hurried Viserys along the smoky corridor.

Viserys had walked these halls since he had learned to walk, but even he was disoriented. Suddenly he realized that Renly was no longer behind him.

“Stop! We need to find Renly.”

Ser Alliser coughed. “No time, my lord prince. We must escape. I must get you to safety. This is my vow.”

With those words, the white knight took a firm grip on his upper arm and began to hasten his steps. They found a staircase and went down. They joined a stream of people flowing to the exit and were soon under open sky.

“We must not stop,” Ser Alliser muttered. He pressed forward through the crowd, shoving aside a foppish courtier. They ducked through an archway and pulled Viserys away from a burning building.

“This is stellar!” Viserys shouted. He felt somehow like he could reach out and play with the flames, as though they would obey his commands.

“We must escape, my lord prince! To the walls!”

The way was choked with panicking people trying to carry water. The fire brigade was out in force, but it was a useless fight. Flames were everywhere.

On the wall, Viserys could see the entire city of King’s Landing was ablaze. Gouts of green fire belched skyward every now and then, igniting conventional fire wherever it landed.

Viserys stood there, mesmerized and transfixed.

“My lord prince, we must go.”

“Why?”

“It’s not safe. The whole city is burning.”

“Isn’t it magnificent?” Viserys whispered. His eyes were wide, trying to take it all in at once. “Yes, truly the Seven will take note of us tonight.”

Nearby, Ser Alliser was fiddling with one of the catapults.

“My lord prince!” Ser Alliser said urgently, and he laid his hands on Viserys’ person. “I apologize, my lord prince, but there is no other way. If I survive, you may punish me as you like.”

With a heave-ho, Ser Alliser loaded Viserys into the bucket. He hoisted himself up next to Viserys, set himself, and cut the rope with his sword. The tension released, they soared into the sky.

Viserys howled with delight. This was the most incredible feeling he’d ever had, better even than riding the fastest horse. He resolved, in the back of his mind, to have the maesters begin designing some sort of flying machine. _Surely this is what my ancestors felt like on dragonback!_

They reached the apex, and as the wind slowed, Viserys caught a glimpse of Ser Alliser’s face. He was looking down, and he did not seem pleased. His face was as white as his cloak, and as they began to fall, he started to yell.

The shock of the water was not the worst. It was the disorientation of not knowing which way was up, and not knowing which way to swim. When Viserys broke to the surface at last with a great gasping breath, nothing had ever tasted so sweet.

“Ser Alliser! Ser Alliser!”

The knight splashed into sight, his chainmail and white cloak discarded.

“Ser Alliser! You’re alive!”

“Barely, my lord prince,” he choked, spitting out seawater. “More important, you are alive. Thank the Seven. My oath is fulfilled. Let us cling to one of these rocks and wait for rescue.”

They huddled together, Ser Alliser keeping himself wrapped around Viserys, protecting him from the wind as best he could.

Across the water, King’s Landing continued to burn.


	28. Lyanna X

King’s Landing burned all night. Even at this distance, they could hear the crackle of the flames, the screams of the dying. The very stones shattered with thunderous detonations. In the darkest hours, the fire finally began to burn itself out. Though the flames might have abated, the whole place was glowing hot. Only when the dawn came did the heat fade enough for anyone to approach.

Lyanna left Jon with Wylla, Ser Arthur, and her escort and stepped forward alone. _Nothing could have survived this, but I would not have him breathe these evil fumes._

It was almost impossible to believe that a thriving city had stood here only a day ago. She wandered through the wreckage in a daze, marveling at the utter destruction. There was nothing left, only smoking ashes. Here and there she found twisted lumps of melted stone. _Like Harrenhal. Dragons did that, but all the dragons are dead. What caused this?_

Harrenhal had been a mighty castle, true, but still only home to several hundred. King’s Landing had been the most populated city in Westeros. Lyanna flinched back at the horror of it.

“By the old gods of the North,” she swore. “What happened here?”

As if in answer to her question, there was movement nearby. A figure struggled to his feet. It was naked and had no hair. It cackled madly as it languidly stretched its arms to the sky.

“What wonder. What greatness. What majesty. Such glorious rapture. I feel renewed, like I am again young, in my prime. The dragonfire has restored me. I feel it burning within me still.”

Lyanna gasped. “Aerys!”

There was no mistaking him, even bald and naked, covered in ashes. He leered at her, and she felt her skin crawl.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Stark strumpet. Welcome back to King’s Landing, my dear. I’m afraid I have no hospitality to offer you.”

“Your Grace,” she said dazedly, somehow remembering her courtesies. “What happened here?”

“My final plan, come to fruition at last. A bit delayed, but nonetheless magnificent. Surely all the gods noticed us again.”

She liked not this talk. “Your plan? You caused this? How?”

He grinned madly at her. “Wildfire. My last defiance of Robert the Rebel, should he take the city.”

“Monstrous,” she whispered. Half a million people had perished in a fire that could not be extinguished. There was no escape. No place to run.

“And the dragon survives!” Aerys roared. “This is my kingdom, taken with blood and fire.”

“No, Father,” came a strong voice. “Westeros has survived your reign. Now the throne belongs to me.”

Lyanna recognized that voice, and she dared to hope. A figure stood tall amidst the smoke and mist. It was strangely lumpy. Then the shadows cleared slightly, and she saw that it truly was Rhaegar.

Rhaegar... and a miracle.

He was also naked, though he was decidedly more pleasing to look upon than his father. Three baby dragons clung to him, riding on his broad shoulders.

“How?” Lyanna whispered. _Dragons? What insanity is this?_

“Usurper!” Aerys spat. “You are no son of mine. Viserys shall be my heir.”

“No, Father,” Rhaegar said calmly. “I am the Targaryen. Behold! For the first time in a hundred years, dragons live again. You wanted a sign from the gods? This is it.”

“Dragons! Where did you get eggs?”

“They were a gift, a tribute from Stannis Baratheon.”

Aerys cackled insanely. “A rebel that we crushed!”

“A rebel you would have killed. I accepted his tribute and fealty, though it hardly matters now. Like as not, he died with the rest.”

“It matters not. All that is important is that we rule.”

“I rule, Father. Your time is over. Be silent. If you try my patience, I shall kill you with my bare hands.”

Aerys sneered. “Patricide, Rhaegar? I always knew it.”

“Your paranoia and actions forced my hand.”

“You never wanted to be my Hand!” Aerys snarled. “You selfish cunt! You wanted to read your books! You wanted to write your poems and play your harp. Then one day, you had to become the greatest warrior in the West, so you did. Then you decided you wanted to fuck a wolf, so you did. Would that you had decided to serve the realm and not your own selfish ends! You left me to defend the realm with nothing. I had to wring coherent service from toadies, incompetents, and ass-kissers. Yes, lecture me some more about how terrible I am and how wonderful you are. Make up lies and have the bards repeat them. You and I know the truth, boy. Go on, then. Do it. Take my life. Take it the way you’ve taken my throne.”

“No, Aerys,” a woman’s voice cut in strongly. “Your time is past, but there is no need for you to die. Let us leave the future to our son.”

“Rhaella?”

Rhaegar’s mother was naked as well, and she held a sleeping infant in her arms. Lyanna was not sure how much more surreal the situation could be.

“This is Daenerys Fireborn, our daughter.”

“A daughter!” Aerys said, not sounding well pleased. “Not a son, a daughter. A daughter. Well, I suppose Viserys will need a wife. Yes, this is good. We will keep the blood pure.”

Aerys wandered off into the mists, muttering to himself about potential matches for his chosen heir and cursing his cousin Steffon.

Rhaegar was obviously overcome by seeing his new sister. He could say only, “She is beautiful.”

Rhaella smiled. “Rhaenys and Aegon slept through the whole thing.”

“Where is Elia?”

Now Rhaella looked sad. “She tried to protect them. She tried until the last to wake them. I tried to convince her to flee, but she wouldn’t leave the children. I tried to tell her they were in no danger. I’m so sorry, Rhaegar.”

Rhaegar wept.

Lyanna felt her own heart lurch. _Rest easy, Princess. I am sorry I could not earn your forgiveness in this life._

“Where are the children?” she asked Rhaella.

“Over there.”

Rhaegar gestured, and the baby dragons flashed over to the children. They all curled up together, looking as cosy as could be.

“Where is Jon?” he asked brokenly.

“He’s there, with Wylla.”

“Bring him. He should be with his brother and sister.”

Ser Arthur brought Jon over. “He fell asleep as soon as she handed him to me.”

“Rhaegar, may their aunt join them?”

“Of course.”

Three baby dragons, two toddlers, and two infants were puddled together. It was sweet, touching, and utterly Targaryen.

Lyanna reached out and took Rhaegar’s hand. “I will raise them as my own,” she swore -- to the memory of Elia Martell, as much as to their husband.

“I love you for it,” he said quietly. “I know Elia would too.”

“I came here prepared to offer her my life. I hoped she would be a mother to Jon. Oh, how the gods do love to play tricks on us mortals. I must be worthy of what I would have asked.” She bowed her head for a moment.

“My queen,” Ser Arthur said, offering Rhaella his cloak.

“Thank you, ser.” She regarded the white garment for a long moment and then covered herself. “My condolences on the loss of your sister.”

“Thank you, my queen.”

“Rhaegar!” came a sudden shout. His head snapped up.

“Viserys?” he gasped.

Viserys and Ser Alliser approached. They were wet and bedraggled, and Ser Alliser had lost all his arms and armor. They were not, however, naked.

“Rhaegar!”

The brothers embraced fiercely.

Rhaegar ruffled his brother’s hair. “You look well. Better than the rest of us. Where did you hide?”

“A rock in the bay. Ser Alliser launched us from a catapult! It was incredible. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever done. I want to do it again. You have to try it some time!”

Rhaegar smiled indulgently. “In good time, young dragon. Thank you, Ser Alliser. You have performed your duty well. Name your reward.”

“Thank you, my lord prince. I will think on it.”

Rhaella turned from watching the children.

“Viserys, my son. Oh, seeing you lifts my heart yet further.”

“Mother!” Viserys flung his arms around Rhaella, and he burst into tears. “You’re alive!”

“Sweet boy! I am the blood of the dragon. Fire cannot harm me. I birthed your brother in the flames of Summerhall.”

“Didn’t a lot of our family die there?”

“Due to falling stone, not fire,” she informed. “I was there. I saw.”

“We were out on a rock in the bay watching the city burn. It was beautiful, but I was so worried about you.”

She cupped his face with one hand and leaned down to kiss him.

He recoiled. “Mother!”

“Hush, Viserys. Mother will kiss you if she wants.”

Lyanna could not help but smile at them.

“Ser Alliser, I am glad to see you survived,” said Ser Arthur. “Are you the only one of our order?”

“Thank you, brother. Ser Jaime yet lives as well. He journeys west to escort his sister to the capitol for her wedding.”

“Ser Gerold? Ser Oswell?”

“Perished, along with Ser Lerran and Ser Edmund.”

“I know them not.”

“Nor I. I heard the names from Ser Jaime.”

“Ser Lerran Blackmont and Ser Edmund Brune,” said Rhaegar. “I pinned their cloaks less than a fortnight ago.”

“You, Rhaegar?” Viserys said sharply. “Why not Father? Why was he locked up?”

Rhaegar sighed deeply. “His madness threatened the realm. I confined him for the good of all.”

“You stole his throne!”

“I could have slain him,” Rhaegar pointed out. “I could have had another slay him. Despite all he has done, he is my father, and I love him still. I locked him away and saw his every need attended.”

Aerys ambled near. “My every need? Pah! Except freedom! Except my rightful throne!”

“A throne that I defended for you,” Rhaegar snapped. “Had Robert defeated me at the Trident, he would have taken King’s Landing, slain you, and crowned himself. I saved the realm, and the sack of the city. I did not wish to claim the throne. Initially I ruled as Prince Regent. It is only recently that I claimed the title of King.”

Viserys pondered that. “What will happen to him now? He is our father.”

“So he is. I worry about how much he has contaminated your thinking.”

Viserys shrugged. “I look up to you at least as much, if not more.”

“I am no model of good behavior. My actions led to war.”

“The dragon takes what he wants!” Aerys roared.

“That’s exactly the sort of thing I meant. Maybe when we had dragons we could get away with that sort of behavior, but that doesn’t mean it was right. That only means we were stronger.”

“Strength makes peace.”

“True, but it does not make for justice.” He seemed to set himself. “Viserys, I want you to go over with the children. You don’t need to see this.”

“Yes!” Lyanna burst out, stung to words at last. “Yes, he does need to see it! Viserys, you must understand that your father is not a good man. He is an insane man. He murdered good men and drove others to rebellion. He brought Westeros to the brink of destruction. He set off the wildfire that burned this city to ashes, murdering half a million people. Do you even know what that number means, Viserys?”

The prince wilted. “Father did that?”

“I did!” he proclaimed.

“Rhaegar! You must do it yourself.” Here among the ashes, he could have ordered Ser Alliser or Ser Arthur to do the deed. She was determined to instill a Northern morality in the new order. “The one who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

“Yes, Lyanna. You are right.” He kissed her gently and moved to stand before his father. He spoke in a formal tone. “Aerys Targaryen. You admit to starting the fire that destroyed King’s Landing?”

The Mad King drew himself up. “With pride.”

Rhaegar sighed heavily. “Then for the crime of mass murder of every citizen of King’s Landing, I, Rhaegar, first of my name, do sentence you to die.” He held out his hand. “Ser Arthur, your sword.”

Renewed by dragonfire or not, a yard of Valyrian steel across his throat slayed Aerys II quite effectively.


	29. Rhaegar X

Three Years Later:

“Lemon Cake?” Rhaegar asked. “Rhaenys, don’t you think a dragon needs a proper name?”

“Lemon Cake is a proper name,” the willful six-year old princess said, her tone incredulous that it was even being discussed. “She’s all white and gold and pretty, and lemon cakes are my favorite.”

Rhaegar sighed. “It’s a dragon, not a treat,” he said, noticing Lyanna giggling as she tended to Jon’s sore finger.

“But Lemon Cake is her name, just like I’m Rhaenys,” she said earnestly. “How could I change it?”

“Well, sweetling, a dragon needs a name of dignity and Lemon Cake is…not dignified. What about a compromise?” Rhaegar offered.

“A compromise?” Rhaenys asked, looking up.

“Yes. Instead of Lemon Cake, name her Sunbeam and I shall give you a whole lemon cake. In fact, I’ll give you any cakes you want,” Rhaegar offered. “Perhaps Balerion? You like that name.”

“That’s my kitten’s name. My kitten is Balerion and my dragon is Lemon Cake,” Rhaenys said.  “Do I have to?”

“You gave your kitten a dragon’s name and you gave your dragon a kitten’s name,” Rhaegar mumbled. “I’m just asking for a switching of it. Lemon cakes for a month and I’ll buy you a pony you can name Sugarplum.”

Lyanna laughed. “Darling, how is that a compromise?” she asked. “It’s your dragon, Rhaenys, and you can name her as you please. Correct, Husband?” she said.

Rhaegar sighed again. “All right,” he said. “It is your dragon, Daughter. The minstrels will be well paid,” he said darkly.

“Froggy,” Jon suddenly said. “Want. Froggy.”

“Who is Froggy?” Rhaegar asked. “His new poppet?”

“No, Father. His dragon is named Froggy,” Rhaenys said, as Lyanna nearly doubled over. “Because he’s green like a frog.”

“By the Seven!” Rhaegar said, rolling his eyes. “Even the Lannisters couldn’t pay the minstrels enough to make them sound like dragons.”

“I’m sure the breathing of fire will be enough,” Lyanna said, kissing Jon’s dark head. “You and Froggy can play together after you eat.”  

“Rhaenys, what did Aegon name his dragon?” Rhaegar asked, rubbing his head with dismay.

“Nibbles,” Rhaenys said. “Because he nibbles at our fingers and it makes us laugh.”

Rhaegar ignored his queen’s peals of laughter. “When the minstrels write the tales, they will be instructed accordingly,” he mumbled, before smiling at his daughter. “My daughter, the Dragonrider.”  

Lyanna hummed. “Oh, let us regale with the wonderful tale of the Targaryen dragons three, Lemon Cake, Froggy, and Nibbles rode to victory,” she sang out.

Rhaegar snickered. “You are incorrigible,” he said. “I thought being queen had tamed you.”

She only laughed some more.

After lunch, Rhaegar went out to make yet another attempt to tame the dragons. They were as intractable as his queen.

Rhaegar dodged a jet of dragon flame and cursed at the huge black beast, who was inexplicably named Nibbles. It hissed back at him, warning him to stay away from its body. It watched him warily, knowing exactly what he wanted. A single foot moved forward drew a snarl, and actually putting his weight on the foot got him snapped at. He cuffed the dragon on the snout, but it was not impressed, and he moved back a bit.

Lyanna walked over to him with Jon, Daenerys, and Aegon clinging to her skirts. Nibbles immediately calmed down and began to seem almost playful. The children ran over to it and began to climb on its back without a hint of protest.

“Even after three years, they still recognize no other,” Rhaegar said, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“It is not your destiny, my love,” Lyanna soothed.

“It is a difficult thing to accept. They take food from my hand. They let me scratch their heads and groom them. They like me just fine right until I try to mount them. Then they try to cook me. I’m sure eating me would soon follow.”

“Perhaps it is their way of showing affection, much as a cat will bring a dead mouse and place it upon one’s pillow. It seems strange to us, but to them is only natural.”

“I cannot say that I have ever had a cat do such a thing for me.”

“The servants probably cleaned it up quickly.”

“I must issue a bonus.”

Lyanna giggled and squeezed his hand. “Is it not enough that you hatched the eggs?”

“I believe my father gets the blame for that.” Rhaegar heaved a great sigh. “I wish I could have stayed longer at the Wall. I should have gone sooner, but there are so many matters to attend to here. My discussions with Uncle Aemon were most fruitful. He believes that it was the sacrifice of so many lives in the wildfire that caused the eggs to hatch.”

“But they were delivered to you. Not your father, you. Your father wanted Stannis dead. He would not have risked returning to offer fealty had you not taken the throne. Only because of you were the eggs in the right place at the right time. It cannot be mere coincidence. Surely the gods had a hand or two here.”

Rhaegar turned to Ser Alliser Thorne. “Lord Commander, you will remain with the children. When they are through here, bring them home.”

The hard-bitten soldier bowed, his white-enamelled armor creaking. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Leaving the children to play with the dragons under the watchful eye of Ser Alliser, Rhaegar and Lyanna returned to the castle, what the smallfolk had taken to calling Rhaegarfort. It was only a temporary home. Once construction of the new capital city had been completed, this place would likely be granted to a small lord or worthy knight.

They found Rhaenys at her lesson with the new Grand Maester. He had been most insistent that all the children learn to read and write. Jon and Daenerys had known their letters before they could speak more than a handful of words. They and Aegon had known their numbers and were doing sums before they no longer needed a daily nap. The Crown Princess Rhaenys had taken to her lessons with gusto. She was growing into a clever and insightful young woman, and Westeros would be well-served when she ascended to the throne.

The Iron Throne had melted with the rest of King’s Landing. Rhaegar had not yet sought a new throne, for he had no throne room. When he sat, his chair was humble wood, the craftsmanship mediocre.

“Father!” the princess cried, running to embrace him. She turned to Lyanna. “Mother!”

“How go the lessons, sweetling?”

“Magnificent! Maester Marwyn says my script is superior.”

“Now, now, my princess,” the maester chided gently, twisting at the Valyrian steel ring on his hand. “Boast not so. Tis unseemly in a royal heir.”

“Sorry, Maester Marwyn.”

The maester blew out an explosive breath and folded his enormous hands across his hard ale-belly. “When I persuaded my fellows to elevate me to Grand Maester, I wanted to study dragons. I think the gods must have heard my fervent prayers, for they have certainly granted my wish in their own fashion.”

“Is it not all you dreamed of, Grand Maester?” Lyanna asked with plain amusement.

Marwyn barely came up to Lyanna’s eye level, but he was easily double her girth, with a barrel chest and a jaw to match. His booming laugh was easy and jolly.

“All that and much more, my queen. Some would think this beneath the dignity of a Grand Maester, but helping young minds to realize their potential is rewarding in its own right. When those young minds will go on to become rulers of the realm in places great and small, it is a responsibility of the highest order.”

“Well said, maester,” Rhaegar said.

“How fares my brother at the Wall?”

“Old,” Rhaegar said with great sadness. “The one ailment from which there is no relief. Fortunately his mind is still sharp, though his vision is fading. He cannot read anymore, a terrible thing for a scholar.”

“Such a waste of his talents and wisdom there at the Wall,” Marwyn declared. “He should have been raised to Archmaester, even Grand Maester. But that would put him exactly where he was trying to escape. Still, he could have refused that and simply remained in the Citadel. He has much to teach us all. Your Grace, did you urge him to return with you?”

“I did, maester. I pleaded with him for nearly a day, but he remained resolute. ‘I am a brother of the Night’s Watch,’ he told me. ‘I swore my vow fifty-three years ago. My place is here.’”

“Always the same with him. He didn’t want to be a pawn in someone’s treasonous plot. I do respect that, but things are different now. I thought for certain the fact that dragons have returned to the world would have persuaded him.”

“He was sorely tempted,” Rhaegar admitted. “Yet his vow binds him tightly. I offered to find some way to let him serve me and the realm at the same time, but he refused. He is very interested in having the dragons come to him though.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be?” Marwyn said with a great laugh. Due to a colorful youth and novitiate, he’d had his nose broken on several occasions, and his laugh sounded more like crying. Only his broad smile, revealing teeth stained red by chewing sourleaf, betrayed his good humor.

“Perhaps once the children are a bit older and are better able to control themselves, I will be able to take them to visit their uncle. Until then, he will just have to wait.” Rhaegar turned to Lyanna. “Shall we leave Rhaenys to her lesson?”

“Yes, please!” Rhaenys piped up.

Rhaegar and Lyanna looked at each other and laughed. She was just too precious.

King and Queen slipped away to their modest bedchamber and poured some Arcian red.

“Well, my love,” she said, “we have a little time to ourselves, it seems. Could I interest you in ravishing me?”

Her direct words sent a jolt through him. “You know I delight in ravishing you, dearest one, but isn’t that exactly how you got in this condition in the first place?”

Lyanna placed a hand on her tummy, which was just starting to bulge again. “I don’t think I can get more pregnant.”

  
  



	30. Loose Ends

_Cersei Targaryen_ , she thought bitterly as she washed her husband’s seed off her hands. She sighed and tried not to give in to despair. _How did it all go so wrong?_

She had married Prince Viserys three years ago. Her lord father had made a near-royal match for her. Storm’s End was not far from King’s Landing, so she would be able to see her twin brother Jaime often.

It had not gone according to plan.

King Aerys had burned the entire city to the ground, killing her lord father and everyone else not named Targaryen. She hadn’t been entirely happy with her father’s decision, but she knew better than to challenge him. With Uncle Kevan tending to the family affairs, she had thought to persuade him to break the betrothal. Though he was weak enough for her to convince, Kevan was too weak to challenge King Rhaegar on the matter, so Cersei had married a boy ten years younger than she.

The planned ceremony was cancelled, because there was no city left after the King’s Burning. Cersei and Viserys had been wed by a simple country septon with no more pomp and ceremony than a village washerwoman and her man.

She’d wanted one last night of passion with Jaime, but she could never seem to get him alone. He was always on duty, one of only three Kingsguard knights remaining. Indeed, in the last three years, she’d only been with her twin brother a handful of times. She couldn’t let his seed quicken in her womb, so she made sure to obtain the herbs for Moon Tea before every attempted tryst.

She’d wasted a lot of gold on unneeded herbs.

Viserys treated her like one of his playmates. He commanded her to take part in their games, which usually involved acting the part of the damsel in distress. She certainly felt like a maid at times.

She hadn’t left Storm’s End in nearly six months. Her last trip to Rhaegarfort had been under the guise of visiting with Queen Lyanna. She had been looking forward to getting Jaime alone and fucking her brains out.

By her bad luck, King Rhaegar had finally taken his long-promised trip to the Wall to visit with his Uncle Aemon. He had taken Jaime with him.

_The gods must hate me. First they see me married to a child, then they tear me away from my only comfort, and then they conspire to keep him out of my reach._

She had been stuck at Rhaegarfort for a week, waiting upon Queen Lyanna. Upon her return to Storm’s End, she had been allowed to refresh herself, but Viserys had requested she be brought to his bedchamber. There he proclaimed that he had achieved manhood and would take her maidenhead at last.

That had been the idea, anyway.

Helpless to disobey - she’d learned the hard way not to counter his whims, however silly she might deem them - she had disrobed and lay down on the bed. The young prince was so excited by actually “making sex”, as he termed it, that they had not actually been able to attempt the act. After a surreal and horrifying span, he had finally fallen asleep. She had slipped away to her own chamber to clean off.

_He will want to do this again tomorrow. Again, the day after. Everyone from the maester to his brother has told him that he has a duty to propagate his house. He will fuck me eventually, and he will expect me to produce an heir._

Just then there was a knock at her door. She opened it to reveal Maester Cressen, as though summoned by her thoughts.

“Good evening, my lady. I have here a tonic that will increase your fertility.”

In her mind, she began to scream.

* * *

Catelyn thrust back against her husband as he drove deep inside her. She felt him flex and then his cock began to spasm within her, shooting his seed into her womb. His release triggered her own, and waves of ecstasy crashed over her. She cried out Petyr’s name again and again, finally collapsing to the bed, utterly spent.

“I love you,” she breathed. “I love you.”

He was panting too hard to reply, but he gave her a quick kiss.

She felt content, secure, and safe. Petyr’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close.

How long they lay there intertwined, she could not have said.

“When will Hoster and Lyanna be done with their lesson?” she wondered. “Can we go again?”

Ever since she had become pregnant with their first child, her appetites had been insatiable. It had not subsided once Lyanna was born. Petyr hadn’t complained a bit. After seeing him as only a younger brother for so many years, surely he enjoyed it each and every time she reached for him.

“Again? Woman, I am scarce recovered yet.”

“Let me assist you,” she offered.

Herself of three years ago would have been shocked at the wanton things she did with her mouth and tongue. Her septa would have needed smelling salts.

In moments, Petyr’s hardness had returned. She continued to lick and kiss it, and he moaned loudly. She raised her head and smirked at him before throwing her leg over and straddling him. He slipped inside her effortlessly, sending a shuddering ripple of ecstasy through her body. She rocked back and forth, riding him with slow motion.

“Yes,” she hissed, “just like that. Just like that. Oh, Petyr!”

With a partner who was participating out of more than a sense of duty, Catelyn had discovered physical pleasure, and she delighted in both giving and receiving it. She’d also learned that she was a bit of a screamer.

Like now.

Petyr grabbed her hips, not letting her stop, and he thrust up into her even as her senses flooded over with bliss once more. She collapsed onto his chest and sank her teeth into his shoulder to muffle her raw cry of passion.

“Ow!” he yelped, for she had drawn blood.

She licked her lips and purred. “I love you.”

* * *

Tyrion Lannister rolled off his wife with a blissful groan. Tysha shuddered and snuggled into his side. His breath heaved in his chest, and sweat trickled off his forehead.

“I love you,” she gasped.

“And I love you,” he panted.

“My lord,” she breathed, “my brave and mighty lord.”

“My lady,” he said, trying to regain control, “my sweet and gentle lady.”

They lay there together, twined together like a vine on a branch. Her fingers played through his hair. His hand on her breast gave an occasional, reflexive squeeze. She kissed the top of his head.

Only a call of nature forced him out of bed, and once he had relieved himself, he was reminded of all the work there was yet to do.

“Come back to bed,” she said drowsily.

“I am sorry, my love, but I have important meetings today.”

“You have meetings every day.”

“Uncle Kevan was most upset with me when I skipped out, the last time. He said I had better things to do than roll in the sheets all day.”

“Is not making an heir the most important thing, my love?”

Tyrion nodded. “As I said to him. He agreed, but he said if it hadn’t happened during the morning, the afternoon and evening were not likely to make a difference.”

“And when did he forge his maester’s chain?” Tysha asked impishly.

Tyrion laughed. “An excellent question, love. I shall inquire of him.” He kissed her.

“Do you want me to stay naked in bed until you get back?”

His cock stirred at the idea. “No, such a thought would only distract me even more than you usually do. I shall need my full wits today.”

Tyrion was still three years away from taking control of the Westerlands in his own right. His Uncle Kevan acted as his castellan, and Tyrion was a quick study. He truthfully felt ready to assume the lordship already.

It was something he had never thought possible, despite his older brother being tapped for the Kingsguard. He was a dwarf, as the world saw fit to remind him several times a minute. He would normally have been removed from the line of succession as a matter of course. That had been the plan, but Lord Tywin had died in the King’s Burning before he could take a new wife and father a new heir. So, Casterly Rock fell to Tyrion, a mere ten years of age.

Uncle Kevan could have pushed him aside and claimed the Rock for himself, but years of serving Tywin had crushed his personal ambitions. He had devoted himself to preparing Tyrion for his duties as Warden of the West. He was adequate to the task, but Tyrion’s true tutor was his Aunt Genna.

Aunt Genna was the younger sister of Tywin and Kevan, and she had acted as mother to her niece and nephews after the death of Lady Joanna. A forceful woman, she had been married off to Emmon Frey. It was not a good match for her, a fact she did not keep to herself. Tywin had been the only one to speak out against her match, so she had always loved him dearest.

Tyrion quite liked her, for she always spoke her mind and paid no heed to her sex or the customary restraint they were expected to observe. She had taken Tyrion’s lessons at politics and statecraft to a whole other level.

“Ah, Tyrion, so good of you to join us. Married life treating you well?”

“It’s delightful, Auntie dearest. I do apologize about yesterday.”

“How well I remember the early bliss of marriage. You should enjoy it, nephew. Just not to the exclusion of all else.”

“Uncle,” Tyrion said with a nod.

“Tyrion.”

“Will Uncle Tygett be joining us?”

“He’s led a troop of men to the east. Bandits were reported on the gold road.”

“Ever since Father died, they’ve grown bolder.”

“Tygett will show them that House Lannister remains strong. The younger sons of Lord Tytos are just as stalwart as his heir was.”

“I may not be able to lead men in combat in his manner, but I assure you that my will is as mighty,” Tyrion declared.

“Good. Perhaps today would be apt for a discussion of military tactics.”

Uncle Kevan began to describe what was known about the bandits, and Tyrion was consumed by details and the intricacies of strategy. Lead he would not, but command? Even old men confined to bed could issue orders.

* * *

Domeric Bolton and Benjen Stark had been fast friends for three years. Ever since his father had rode to war and death with Benjen’s father, the two boys had been wards of the crown. The Lord Paramount of the North was two years older and a natural leader, and eight-year-old Domeric was perfectly content to follow him. Relations between Winterfell and the Dreadfort had never been good, but the two boys were writing a new chapter.

Winterfell had a castellan appointed by the crown to manage the affairs of the castle and the kingdom, but Ser Nevan Fowler was always deferential. He made suggestions and explained why he thought something might be a good idea, but the decisions were Benjen’s. Nobody told Benjen what he could or couldn’t do.

Though there was a castellan appointed for him, Domeric Bolton barely knew more than the man’s name. Ser Harold Manwoody’s manner was stern and did not invite familiarity. There was no question that he was in command, and if his orders were not carried out immediately, there was a strapping involved. Small wonder that Domeric spent more of his time at Winterfell than the Dreadfort.

Domeric also had a new maester. His lessons largely consisted of lectures about how foolish it was to challenge the dragons. He learned the intricacies of heraldry, and the ignoble history of his own house’s flayed man. The disdain in the maester’s voice could not be more obvious. The stories Domeric was told about the foul deeds committed by his ancestors made him physically sick.

The two Northern lads were often also in the company of Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun, and another ward of the crown. They’d spent months together in King’s Landing as King Aerys’ guests, and even after King Rhaegar had allowed them to return to their homes, they still often found excuses to visit.

They had just returned from a hunting trip in the Lonely Mountains. The men had much success, but the boys weren’t allowed to do much more than watch. They weren’t even able to take part in the cleaning and dressing the elk.

Edmure explained the reason. “We’re not to be allowed to train at arms. I’m twelve,” he said, wincing as his cracking voice confirmed his statement. “I should have learned sword, shield, and lance by now. Yet I haven’t had a single lesson. The master at arms tells me to talk to Ser Garth. Ser Garth tells me King Aerys forbid me to ever touch a blade longer than a meat knife. Until and unless King Rhaegar says we can be trained, we won’t be. Ser Garth won’t even ask for me. Maester Luwin won’t write the message for me.”

“Ser Harold would beat me bloody if I even dared to ask about weapons training,” Domeric moaned. “I’m lucky I get regular meals.”

Benjen frowned. “I had wanted to learn the sword as well, but Ser Nevan keeps putting me off, and nobody else ever has any time. You think I have been forbidden as well?”

“Hard to say,” Edmure judged after a moment’s thought. “House Stark managed to escape Robert’s Rebellion with all titles and positions intact.” He sounded bitter.

“You mean Tully’s Treason?” Benjen replied coolly. “We’re hardly intact. We paid in gold, aye, but we paid in blood. I’m the last of my house, Ed. My father was cruelly murdered, and two of my brothers are gone, leaving me with the duty. You’ve always been heir, and at least your sisters both yet live.”

“One of my sisters is a prisoner in the Vale, and yours is now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Stark’s Insurgence turned out quite well for you, I’d say.”

“What did you say?” Benjen demanded sharply.

“Stark’s Insurgence turned out well for you. Raise your banners, get rewarded.”

Without a further word, Benjen slugged him.

The two boys fell grappling to the ground. Domeric watched for a moment, stunned, and then leapt into the fray with a cry of, “The North!”

The men didn’t intervene, and eventually the two boys working together subdued the older boy. Domeric sat on his chest.

“Now,” Benjen said, breathing raggedly, “you will apologize for insulting House Stark.”

“I will not,” Edmure spat. “I have lost so much and will be punished in perpetuity, yet you retain most of what you had.”

“You still have your home,” Benjen retorted hotly. “House Arryn was wiped out, their seat now home to a new branch of Targaryens. Look at what happened to Renly Baratheon. He was our age, his brother rebelled, yet Storm’s End was given to Prince Viserys. No longer Lord Paramount, no longer a lord at all. Count your blessings, Tully.”

The Dreadfort was a dreary place, but Domeric was glad to still have it. It had lots of dark corridors and dungeons that were forbidden to him. He had once wondered at that, how the lord could be forbidden from anywhere in his own castle. Ser Harold put a stop to his wondering.

Back at the Dreadfort, Edmure packed up his things and made a hasty departure.

“He’s not even going to stay for the feast?” Domeric said with vicious bite. “What a shame.”

“Stupid southrons,” Benjen said. “They think everything is about them.”

After the feast to celebrate the successful hunt, Benjen regretfully began his own preparations to return home.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Domeric said to Benjen.

“Me too, but they don’t let me have any say in these matters.”

“Me either. Have a good journey, my lord.”

“Take care, Dom.”

“You too, Ben.”

Domeric went up to the battlements and watched Benjen’s party as it rode away to the west.

_Yet again I am alone. Not even an hour gone, and I miss them. Yet it may be some time before we see Edmure again. Harsh words were said, and feelings hurt. Soon enough he must come to realize that we are truly lucky to even still draw breath._

A servant approached, interrupting his musings. “My lord, there is a boy at the gates. He claims to be the bastard son of our late lord, one Ramsay Snow.”


End file.
